


Touch

by girlpire



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood Drinking, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Stubbornness, Canon-Typical Violence, Coming In Pants, Dirty Dancing, Dirty Talk, Dry Humping, Exhibitionism, F/M, Frottage, HE'S MINE, Hormones, Horny Angel, Humor, Locked In, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Mutual Masturbation, Pheromones, Porn Watching, Public Blow Jobs, Public Hand Jobs, Rough Kissing, Scent Marking, Sex Pollen, Sexual Tension, Smoking, Spangel, Team Bonding, Vampire Bites, Voyeurism, reluctant singing of whitney houston by a 250 year old vampire, rough handjob
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:28:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 74,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28160178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlpire/pseuds/girlpire
Summary: Angel's been having some problems controlling his impulses. Good thing Spike is there to make everything worse.“Those jeans are not getting into this bed.” He watched Spike obligingly remove the offending black garment and leave it piled on the floor before sliding naked under the sheet with Angel. “If I bought you some real clothes, would you wear them?”“Not fucking likely,” said Spike, nestling down into his pillow. “But if you wanna make a cash donation for services rendered, I might buy me own.”“Right, like I'm going to fund your assault on fashion.” Angel waited until Spike had gotten completely comfortable and stopped fidgeting before he casually reached over and pulled Spike's body to him, skin to skin.“Hey!”“Shh. Go to sleep.”“I'm not your sodding teddy bear.” Spike wriggled around as though choosing his own more acceptable sleeping position, but in the end he settled more or less the way Angel had arranged him anyway, pressed into Angel's side, head resting on his chest, one arm flung across Angel's waist.
Relationships: Angel/Original Female Character, Angel/Original Male Character, Angel/Spike (BtVS)
Comments: 72
Kudos: 86





	1. La-La Land

**Author's Note:**

> This story has... a lot. I'll be adding more tags as I post the relevant chapters.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Angel went about business as usual, feeling restless and overly sensitive, and tried not to notice how everyone at the office seemed suddenly to smell more like sex than they had before.

*  
  
It had been four days since the modusbeast incident, and Angel was still feeling a bit twitchy. He couldn’t really explain it. Ever since he and Wes and Fred had cleaned out the hive, he’d been sort of restless, and his senses were in overdrive. Especially touch and smell.

It wasn’t something worth worrying about exactly, at least he didn’t think it was, not yet. Come to think of it, it may have had nothing to do with the modusbeast hive at all; that was simply when he began to notice. But Angel had pretty good instincts, and usually when he suspected that something could possibly be wrong, then something was definitely wrong. He just didn’t know quite what it was yet or why it was happening, so he didn’t mention it to anyone. Wesley seemed a bit preoccupied anyway, and Fred had been in a bad mood lately. Telling them that he’d felt “twitchy” for a few days seemed like a pointless imposition. So Angel went about business as usual, feeling restless and overly sensitive, and tried not to notice how everyone at the office seemed suddenly to smell more like sex than they had before.  
  
And it wasn’t just the people at the office.  
  
After the modusbeast incident, Angel had encouraged Fred to drive Wesley home for some patching up (the bite wasn’t life-threatening, just messy), while he stayed behind to pick off any stragglers that may have escaped the massacre at the hive. He knew he'd seen at least three of the beasts skitter away, but their scent-trails were too difficult to track quickly and he'd only found and killed one of them. Eventually Angel decided to take the metro back to Wolfram and Hart because there wasn’t time to walk all the way back to the office from the warehouse district before sunrise.

The train was by no means crowded at 5:30 in the morning, but there were enough humans that Angel had to sit near two young women. One was clearly on her way to work, coffee in hand and a messenger bag that looked like it contained a laptop slung over her shoulder. The other had just gotten finished with work. Angel could smell the sex on this woman as though she had applied it carefully all over her body like lotion. He could distinctly sense two different men, their sweat smeared up her thighs and down her back and chest under her tight, glittery dress, and there was still the lingering scent of a third man – not as fresh, maybe from the previous night – clinging to her skin.  
  
He’d encountered prostitutes before, of course, many times. But this one... her smell was so defined, distracting even. Usually he noticed them and then moved on, but he couldn’t stop breathing this girl in. He found himself imagining how her night had gone, exactly what she’d been paid to do and with whom and for how long. When he started becoming aroused, he tried to ignore her, switching his attention to the other young woman, and when he did, he realized he could smell sex on her too. He imagined that she had a steady boyfriend, and their lovemaking was sweet and slow and very different from what this other woman did with her customers.  
  
The closest metro station was about a block from Wolfram and Hart, and he walked this last block quickly, his uncharacteristic erection leading the way. Normally he didn’t have to struggle to control his arousal; in fact, he had more control over his body than almost every other vampire he’d ever met. But for some reason he couldn’t get the two women out of his mind, the way the hooker’s dress rode up her thighs when she crossed her legs, the shape of the other woman’s lips as she sipped her coffee. Details he customarily paid little attention to when it came to strangers.  
  
He attributed this sudden sexual interest to the adrenaline high he got from fighting the modusbeasts, and when he got home to his penthouse, he took a hot shower and indulged in a long jerk-off session while fantasizing about saving a whore who wanted to repay his services by servicing him with her mouth. The resulting orgasm was a pleasant release, but after a nap and some blood, he began to feel a bit twitchy again.  
  
That was four days ago. Since then, Angel had masturbated another eleven times. It felt a little excessive, even for him, but for some reason his climaxes weren’t as satisfying as usual. Or they were – they _really_ were – but that restless feeling kept coming back faster than it should, almost as though he hadn’t climaxed at all. His orgasms barely took the edge off for a few hours, and then he found himself distracted again by all the smells around the office. All the people’s bodies. They were so physical. Solid. Warm and musky.

And their skin was soft and pliable, and he could see where Harmony’s nipples pressed out the fabric of her yellow sundress and the delineation of Spike’s muscles under his black t-shirt and the way the stubble on Wesley’s chin had a little swirl in it when he didn’t shave. He had a strong impulse to touch Gunn’s mouth with his fingertips or to wrap his arms around Fred’s thin frame just to feel her pulse race. He accidentally walked in on Lorne polishing his horns, and after making an awkward apology, he detoured back to his penthouse to get himself off quickly before his next meeting because he knew otherwise he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it, that soft polishing cloth rubbing circles into the shiny red bone.  
  
He had that niggling feeling that he always got when something was amiss, but there wasn’t actually anything to report. He told himself it was nothing. Hormones. He hadn’t had real sex in a very, very long time, not the kind that involved another person. And he hadn’t had a good fight for a few days, either, not since the modusbeasts. He probably just needed to kill something or get laid. It crossed his mind – not for the first time – that if he found a willing vampire, he could take care of both things, but he immediately discarded the idea as always. Slaying would be enough. He decided to patrol downtown.  
  
Angel didn’t jerk off before leaving his apartment, even though he was in the mood. He wanted to save the pent-up energy for slaying. He didn’t take one of his cars, either, because downtown parking was hell on a Friday night and he wasn’t even sure exactly where he was headed. So he ended up on the metro again. He didn’t usually mind taking public transportation, especially when there weren’t many other people around. It made him feel sort of normal, which was nice every now and then. But he never felt comfortable doing it at peak hours because being around a lot of people all at once with their warmth and their smells, packed into a single train like a can of sardines, could be a little overwhelming. And tonight the subway was crowded.  
  
Angel tried to take a car that didn’t seem as full as the others, but he still had to stand up between the rows of occupied seats. He made his way to the back and stood between a homeless guy and a bored-looking teenager wearing headphones and a backpack. His balance was so natural that he never had to hold onto the handrails, but it would look funny if he didn’t, so he casually gripped the overhead bar with his right hand and deliberately didn’t look at anyone, the way nobody looks at each other on trains. He didn’t expect a very eventful ride but at the very first stop, his not-extremely-full car was flooded with trendy twenty-somethings. A gaggle of six apparent BFFs packed in very close to Angel as the train was filled to capacity. They were chattering excitedly about the dance club they were heading to, but Angel could smell that they had started the night already a couple of cocktails down.  
  
The girls jostled and shifted around to find places to stand and hold onto the rail, but the short brunette who slid into the space just in front of Angel couldn’t comfortably reach the bar. Her friends picked on her good-naturedly and offered to let the girl hang onto them. Angel watched the girl in her short skirt and halter top wrap an arm around one friend’s waist. Her back was to him, almost completely bare, the dip of her spine an enticing shallow line down her body. She had very short hair and several silver loops pierced through each ear. He was looking at the smooth place where her neck and shoulder met, second-guessing his decision not to jerk off before he went out, when the train started and the girl stumbled, bumping back against him.  
  
“Oh, excuse me!” she said, laughing a little. She tightened her grip on her friend and gave Angel an embarrassed smile over her shoulder. He smiled back pleasantly like he didn’t mind being bumped into, but his twitchy feeling had intensified. Since the girl was short, her ass had bumped just below his crotch. She smelled like she’d had sex within the past couple of nights. With...? Yep, definitely with another woman. In fact, with the blonde standing just opposite her, who had laughed when the girl bumped Angel. Then he heard the short girl whisper to the one standing in front of her, “Super hottie right behind me. No, don’t look!” The two of them burst into giggles.  
  
The girls didn’t get off at the next stop. Not many people did, and even more got on. The press of bodies got even closer. So many people on this train smelled aroused! A young couple who just barely made it into the car before the doors shut immediately wrapped their arms around one another and started kissing and murmuring to each other. Angel could feel the heat coming off of them as though he were standing between them. And when the train started again, the short girl’s ass bumped his thighs, this time lingering against him a second longer than was necessary. “Sorry!” she laughed, looking not sorry. “I have, like, zero balance.” Her girlfriends snickered.  
  
“It’s okay,” Angel said. He was wearing a nonchalant demeanor – relaxed shoulders, pleasant smile – but the thick, musky smell of all the people, their warmth, and the tiny birthmark near the middle of the girl’s back were all getting to him. He tried to think of something else, anything that wasn’t sexy, but he was already feeling the beginnings of a damn persistent erection.  
  
“God, I fucking love tall guys,” he heard the girl whisper to her friend in front. “Should I ask him to come with us?”  
  
“You’re kidding, right? Lana, you don’t pick up guys on the subway.” The friend cast an appraising glance toward Angel, which he pretended not to notice. “He could be some kind of freak. A serial killer.”  
  
Lana shrugged, hugging her friend’s waist tighter. “So could the guys at the club,” she reasoned. “And they might not have shoulders like that. God, don’t look at him!” She laughed breathily. Even over the noise of the train, Angel’s sensitive ears could hear every sound she made. She smelled beautiful.  
  
“You think Kimmie will mind?” The friend looked left, toward the pretty blonde.  
  
“Kimmie knows how it is,” Lana whispered. “I told her I’ve still got guys on the menu.”  
  
On the menu? The half-formed image in Angel’s mind of Lana and the blonde embracing naked turned into an image of Lana biting him on the neck. She would have to stretch up onto her tiptoes to do so. He didn’t know right away which fantasy was more stimulating, the two girls together or being on Lana’s menu. She wasn’t a vampire, but maybe she was still evil. A cannibal. Did other serial killers really take the metro?  
  
“It’s your call,” Lana’s friend whispered. “Just don’t let it get dramatic with your girlfriend.”  
  
At the next stop, there was a shuffling of passengers, and a few got off, but even more got on. Angel tried not to breathe in too deeply after the influx of bodies pressed the girl even closer to him. Her short skirt brushed against his pants even while they stood still. And as soon as the train moved, her ass bumped him again.  
  
Before he thought about it, Angel’s left hand landed softly on her hip. “Careful,” he said quietly. Her round butt was still touching him, and he left his hand on her under the guise of helping her maintain balance.  
  
She laughed and playfully leaned back against him. She was short enough that he could rest his chin comfortably on top of her head if he wanted to. “Maybe I should just stay here so I won’t fall over,” she suggested with a grin, turning her head a little to the side, but unable to really look back at him from this close. He could smell a hint of vodka on her breath, and her bare back was warm against the soft fabric of his dark gray sweater. His cock was about halfway hard just from her proximity and all the smells on the train. It was pressed lightly against her, just above her ass.  
  
“If you think that will help,” he said graciously. His hand was still on her hip, just resting there. She could move if she wanted. She was still holding onto her friend, but not as tightly as she had been.  
  
“Aw, that’s so sweet,” she told him, sounding amused. “Are you always this nice to strangers?”  
  
“I’m a nice guy,” Angel said. And that was all he was intending to say, but then he impulsively added, “But strangers aren’t always so pretty.”  
  
He immediately felt ridiculous for saying it. He knew he could do a good impression of a charming guy when he needed to, but it usually made him feel old and awkward. He had no idea why he had decided to do it now. It’s just that she was pressed against him in such a nice, warm way, and she smelled so good. He hoped she wouldn’t notice that he was getting hard. There was a fine line between flirting with a stranger on the subway and being humped by a pervert.  
  
“What’s your name?” she asked him. She continued to lean back on him. It probably _was_ partly for balance. Angel noticed that some of the other girls kept looking at them and making expressive faces at each other, some kind of silent language between friends.  
  
“Angel,” he said.  
  
“It’s nice to meet you, Angel.”  
  
“You, too...”  
  
“Lana,” she said. “Hey, my friends and I are going downtown for drinks and some dancing. Wanna come with? Maybe you could keep me from falling on the dance floor.” She twitched her hips fractionally, a tiny but deliberate movement against him.  
  
His fingers flexed gently on her hip. “I’d love to help you out,” he said. “But I’m afraid I’m much more impressive when I’m standing still.”  
  
“What, you don’t like dancing?”  
  
Angel chuckled self-deprecatingly. “The way I do it, you probably wouldn’t like it either. I’m more of a lean-on-the-bar-and-look-cool kinda guy.”  
  
She stifled a giggle. “I can work with that. How about you just buy me a drink and watch me dance with my girlfriends?”  
  
Angel hesitated. Why was he even considering this? All he’d wanted to do tonight was kill something evil, and now he was contemplating _dancing_. On the other hand, there was always the possibility that Lana was evil. He thought about the place where they would go, loud music and people rubbing against each other, sweating. It sounded so... unlike something he would normally want to do. But for some reason the idea appealed to him now. All those warm bodies touching. Being in the middle of those bodies. Those bodies touching _him_...  
  
“Where?” he asked her.  
  
“We’re going to La-La Land. It’s at the next stop.”  
  
La-La Land. It officially sounded like the last place Angel would ever voluntarily set foot. “Could I meet you there later?” he asked. “There’s kinda something I need to do.” Maybe he could find a quick slay to ease his conscience first.  
  
The train was slowing down. “Sure,” the girl said. “But don’t wait too long. I’d hate to have to lean on someone else.” She pressed back against him more firmly as the train came to a stop, and he let his thumb move up and down on her hip while he held her still, breathing in her scent.  
  
“I’ll be there,” he said. He couldn’t help himself.  
  
The girl’s friends pushed toward the doors of the train as they opened, and the blonde – Kimmie – grabbed Lana’s hand to pull her forward. Lana cast a look back over her shoulder at Angel, smiling, before she exited the train.  
  
Angel waited a few seconds and then exited at the same stop. He saw the group of girls flocking toward the station turnstiles, and he followed them at a discreet distance out of the station and up to the busy downtown street. The club was about a block and a half to the left. There was a giant neon blue sign on the outside that said LA-LA LAND and had the outline of a martini glass. He made a mental note of where the place was and then headed in the opposite direction to patrol.  
  
*  
  
It was no use. Angel was too distracted to patrol effectively. Every alley he walked down made him think of the smooth dip of Lana’s backbone. The reflection of moonlight in shallow puddles reminded him of the shiny silver hoops through her delicate ears. Even a piece of litter was exactly the same shape as the birthmark on her back. His cock was still half hard, but only because he couldn’t make it go down any further, which was frustrating as hell. He even thought about finding a private shadow to jerk off in to clear his mind. Why was this suddenly so difficult? It didn’t make any sense. He’d never had such a hard time concentrating before.  
  
The high-pitched scream he heard after over an hour of directionless wandering was almost a relief. He ran toward the sound, drawing a stake out of the inner pocket of his leather jacket. It was the only weapon he’d brought, since swords didn’t tend to go over well on public transportation. As he neared the area where he’d heard the scream, he passed a terrified woman running in the opposite direction. The screamer, most likely. He could hear sounds of a scuffle coming from behind a building. He ran down the alley beside the building and around to the darkened back lot.  
  
It was a vampire. Actually, it was two vampires, and they were fighting. Angel took less than a second to process the coincidence and simply charged into the fray. He shoved one surprised vamp against the brick wall of the building and thrust the stake into its chest. The vampire gave him the middle finger as it disintegrated with a whooshing sound. The other vampire in the alley snarled at him. “What the hell, Angel? That one was mine!”  
  
Angel rested his arm against the bricks and leaned his forehead onto his arm, breathing. Right. How could he have thought slaying something would help? It occurred to him how sexually suggestive the act of staking was. But there was no release. There was the fight, body contacting body, then the thrust of the stake, and then... nothing. The other body just disappears. There’s nowhere to go from there. He tried willing down his hard-on without turning around.  
  
“You don’t just charge in and stake another bloke’s vampire. Rude, is what that is.”  
  
Angel heard some rustling and then the flick of a lighter. He smelled a cigarette being lit. He didn’t turn around.  
  
“You shouldn’t even be around here anyway. Thought downtown was my territory.”  
  
Angel finally turned and leaned back against the bricks. He watched Spike take a drag from his cigarette, and then he had to avert his gaze from the blond’s mouth, the way those pink lips closed around the slender column. “The whole city is my territory, Spike,” he said, looking away.  
  
“That’s not what my contract says.”  
  
“Contract?” Angel looked toward him again, narrowing his eyes. “What contract?”  
  
“Gunn drew it up for me. We divided the city in half, made some definite patrolling boundaries.” Spike used two fingers to take the cigarette from his mouth. “Don’t have it on me. But it clearly states this half—” he pointed to the ground, “—is mine. Technically, I could sue you for trespassing.”  
  
“That’s ridiculous,” said Angel. “This is my city. I was here first.”  
  
“Fine. Expect to hear from my lawyer,” said Spike.  
  
Angel opened his mouth to argue, then closed it and shook his head. He started to walk away, but Spike fell into step beside him, smoking. Under the veil of smoke, Angel could smell the unique smell of Spike’s duster – old leather, like the inside of a 1973 El Camino – and underneath that, cotton fabric. His standard black t-shirt and jeans. The shirt, at least, was clean. Then the smell of Spike. He’d been drinking recently, probably this morning because he wasn’t drunk now, and he’d jerked off not long ago, but he’d had a shower since then. Or maybe he’d done it in the shower. He smelled a little like perspiration, but only faintly, the way humans get when they’re slightly too warm. Adrenaline, probably from the fight, and arousal, also probably from the fight. Angel’s dick moved. He shoved his hands in his pockets irritably as he walked and Spike kept pace.

“So you’re just going to follow me now, is that it?”  
  
“Just patrolling, mate. Not my fault if you’re still hanging around making things redundant.”  
  
“Fine, I’ll stop hunting in this area,” said Angel. “Happy?” He’d done what he’d intended to do anyway. He wondered if Lana was still at the club.  
  
“Be happier if you gave me a little credit sometimes,” Spike said. “I can protect this city as well as the next vampire with a soul. Don’t need you checking up on me like I’m some kind of minion.”  
  
“I didn’t come here for you,” Angel said. “I was hunting demons. You just happened to be here.”  
  
“Well, yeah. It’s my half.”  
  
“Pretty sure I’d have to sign your stupid contract to make that a valid argument, Spike.” Angel kept walking. He felt restless. He’d staked that vampire so quickly that it hadn’t had the chance to struggle, and now he was regretting it. He wanted to feel another body against his. He headed toward the club.  
  
“Where you going now?”  
  
“Out for a drink. Jesus, Spike, now who’s checking up on whom?”  
  
“Tetchy. Where?”  
  
Angel stopped walking. They were across the street from La-La Land. “Where what?”  
  
“Where are you drinking? I could use one about now. Don’t want to accidentally go to the same place.”  
  
Angel glanced toward the club. He didn’t mean to; he was just trying to think of something to say and his eyes happened to stray in that direction. But Spike noticed.  
  
“No way!” Spike laughed. “You? In there with all the club kiddies? You’re joking.”  
  
Angel straightened his shoulders defiantly but kept his hands in his pockets. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”  
  
Spike held up his hands. “No, you’re absolutely right. Sorry.” He was grinning widely. “God, I can’t wait to see this. Go on, then.” He gestured for Angel to continue toward the club.  
  
Angel turned, then hesitated. “Well, why shouldn’t I?” he suddenly asked. “I can pass for their age.”  
  
“You asking for my opinion?” Spike dropped the butt of his cigarette and stepped on it. He seemed genuinely amused, which was annoying.  
  
“I used to go to the Bronze in Sunnydale all the time,” Angel said.  
  
Spike snorted. “This ain’t Sunnydale, peaches. And that—” he pointed at La-La Land, “—is definitely not the Bronze. Be surprised if they let you in looking like that.”  
  
“Like what?” Angel looked down at himself. Under his black leather jacket, he was wearing his favorite gray cashmere sweater, casual yet expensive black pants, and black Timberlands, which he found both stylish and functional. The kind of boots you can slay in but also wear to work. He looked nice.  
  
“Not like you’re going to La-La Land,” said Spike. Off Angel’s look, he explained, “It’s a dance club, yeah? They’ll only let you in if you have the right look, and you really don’t look like you’re going dancing. You look like you’re going... yachting.”  
  
Angel wasn’t sure whether or not this was an insult. “I wasn’t going to dance,” he said, though to be honest, he hadn’t made up his mind yet. “I just want a drink.”  
  
“Then go somewhere else. Trust me.” Spike shook his head, still looking amused. “You wouldn’t like it in there anyway.”  
  
“As if you’d know what I like,” Angel muttered.  
  
“Hey, don’t get your thong in a twist. It’s just not your scene; everyone knows that.”  
  
Angel scowled. “I’m going. In there.” He took one hand out of his pocket to point at the front door of the club, which had a line of people standing outside it. “Tell me what I have to do.”  
  
Spike frowned over at the club, then looked Angel up and down. After a tense moment, he sighed. “Yeah, alright,” he said. “Come with me.”  
  
Angel didn’t know where Spike was taking him, but he followed the blond determinedly until they came across one of Angel’s cars parked on the next street over. There were two pink police tickets on the windshield. “Spike, you can’t park here!” Angel said as he watched Spike pluck the tickets off the car and crumple them up.  
  
“You own the cops, Angel. Don’t tell me you never take advantage of parking free anywhere in L.A.”  
  
“I don’t break the law just because I can,” Angel said. “I took the metro.”  
  
“Color me shocked. I bet you even bought a ticket.”  
  
Actually, he’d jumped the turnstile when the attendant wasn’t looking. Angel didn’t mention this. He looked down at his car. It was the Mercedes. “Where are we going?”  
  
“Nowhere. Lose the coat.”  
  
“What? Why?”  
  
“Because it’s a warm night and there’s no way you’d go dancing in it. Give it here.” Spike held out his hand and snapped his fingers a couple of times. Angel reluctantly took his leather jacket off and handed it to Spike, who tossed it carelessly into the car. “Now the shirt.”  
  
Angel frowned. “I wouldn’t go dancing in a shirt either?”  
  
“Not that one. You’re wearing something under it, right?”  
  
“Yeah, but it’s just a t-shirt.”  
  
“Good,” said Spike. He held out his hand for Angel’s sweater, so Angel pulled it off over his head and gave it over. He was wearing a close-fitting plain white v-neck t-shirt underneath. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited while Spike threw the sweater in the car and then looked him over. He tried not to appear self-conscious as Spike’s gaze lingered over his pants. “Belt,” said Spike.  
  
“Now you’re joking.”  
  
“You don’t have to take it off, just loosen it a bit. Two holes at least.”  
  
“Why? That defeats the purpose of wearing a belt.”  
  
“Exactly,” said Spike. He reached for Angel’s belt buckle himself, but Angel quickly turned away and, cursing under his breath, unfastened it. He fastened it back on the loosest hole. The bottom edge of his t-shirt only just reached the middle of the wide piece of leather.  
  
He faced Spike again. “There. Happy?”  
  
Spike pursed his lips thoughtfully. Then he reached over and grabbed Angel’s pants pockets and gave them a swift downward tug. Startled, Angel flinched as his pants were yanked down a couple of inches, where his belt stopped them right at the cleft of his ass. Now a thin strip of Angel’s flat stomach showed between his shirt and pants. “Happy,” Spike agreed. As an afterthought, he scrubbed his hand back and forth over Angel’s hair, giving it a good tousle before Angel could duck and bat his arm away. “There,” he said. “ _Now_ they’ll let you in.”  
  
Angel resisted the impulse to reach up and fix his hair by shoving his hands back in his pockets. It felt odd that his pockets were lower than before. “Okay. Well. Good,” he said. “Thanks, I guess.” He turned to leave.  
  
“Whoa, hang on,” said Spike. “You’re not going yet.”  
  
Angel turned toward the car again. “But you just said I— what are you doing?”  
  
Spike had removed his duster and was laying it carefully across the passenger seat. He had on a black t-shirt underneath, but he pulled this off over his head and dropped it on top of his coat. “I,” he said, moving toward the trunk of the car, “am going with you.” He popped open the trunk and rummaged around inside it for a moment before taking out a black tank top. He pulled it on. The contrast of the black against his smooth white skin was striking. Angel tried not to stare at his biceps or bare shoulders. Spike was also wearing a small silver bracelet, which Angel had never noticed before. He found it hard to look away from the shiny chain encircling the slim white wrist. It matched the two rings he was wearing.  
  
“No, you’re not,” Angel said.  
  
“Course I am,” said Spike, running his fingers through his hair. He did this several times, separating the gelled platinum strands from each other so that they curled in different directions. It was funny that such a small action could make such a huge difference in the way he looked. For one, he looked a lot younger. He also looked more approachable. Friendlier. Almost... sweet. His wide blue eyes only added credibility to what Angel considered a cruel misrepresentation.  
  
“No,” Angel repeated.  
  
“Don’t be a spoil-sport,” said Spike. He closed the trunk and walked around to shut the passenger door with their coats inside. “There’s no way I’m missing this.” He seemed to suddenly realize something and opened the car door again, reaching for his duster.  
  
Angel watched Spike fish his cigarettes and lighter out of his coat. “Missing what? I’m only going for a drink. It’s not exactly a once-in-a-lifetime event.” Angel desperately didn’t want Spike to witness his... it wasn’t really a date. His hook-up? God, his booty call? What if Lana wasn’t even still there?  
  
Spike flattened his half-empty pack of cigarettes and stuck it in his back pocket along with the lighter and then shut the car door. “You can drop the bloody act, Angel,” he said. He pressed a button on his key fob, and Angel heard the car locks turn. The blond put the keys in his front pocket and started walking purposefully back the way they’d come. Angel had no choice but to follow him. “I know what this is about,” said Spike.  
  
“I really don’t think you do,” Angel told him.  
  
“Well, it’s obvious, innit?”  
  
“It is?”  
  
“Please. I know you too well to play games, Angel. You’d never go to—” he did air-quotes “— _La-La Land_ unless it was a matter of life or death. You’re working a case, and you’re trying to keep me out of it. Well, tough. This is my half of the city, and I mean to be involved in all the world-saving that goes on from here to the Valley.”  
  
“You took Downtown _and_ the Valley?”  
  
“I left you Hollywood and the Westside. Does this have anything to do with those modusbeast thingies?” They were crossing the street toward the club. Angel could perfectly envision his personal and professional lives colliding violently if Spike went in through those doors, but he had no idea how to stop it from happening.  
  
“The—? No,” said Angel. “No, we took care of that on Monday. I’m surprised you didn’t help, since you seem so eager to participate now.”  
  
Spike shrugged. “I was busy.”  
  
Angel wanted to ask what was more important than ridding the world of a hive full of demons – with the specific intention of pointing out that _nothing_ was more important – but he reconsidered when he remembered that in lieu of patrolling, he was approaching the front door of a dance club so he could hook up with a girl he met on the train. He started to head for the back of the line of people waiting outside, but Spike went straight up to the bouncer, so Angel went with him, acting as though he’d been planning to go this way all along. The large man, without saying anything and looking a bit bored, gave Spike and Angel a cursory glance and then stepped aside for them to go through the door.  
  
The inside of La-La Land was very similar to what Angel had imagined: it was warm and loud. It was also kind of dark, though he of course could see fine. The space was larger than he’d expected, with a multi-leveled floor and high ceiling. The bottom level was the dance floor, which was nearly invisible under the throng of sweaty dancers, and the next level, which circled the dance floor on three sides, had two bars and several tables, chairs, and booths, which were mostly full as well. The top level, which was where Spike and Angel had entered, featured one bar and a chrome railing to lean on in order to look down toward the dance floor. All of the bartenders and many of the dancers were wearing glow-in-the-dark necklaces, and the walls had a kind of space theme with lots of tiny lights and giant purple circles and spirals with colored lights behind them. Chrome and white plastic staircases in the corners led down to the bottom two levels. Bubbles floated out over the people, but Angel couldn’t see where they were coming from. He stood where he was for a moment, taking it all in, feeling the bass of the music thump through his body. There was actually a trampoline in one corner of the bottom level, a thick blue pad surrounding it in case of accidents. The musky smell of sweat and sex in the air nearly overpowered the smell of alcohol.  
  
Spike walked over to the railing and leaned on it, surveying the crowd. “What’re we looking for, then?” he asked Angel. “Just anything with horns and fangs, or is this more of an evil conspiracy type gig?”  
  
Angel stood next to him and watched the young people touching and grinding on each other in time to the music. It was almost like porn, but without actual nudity. His skin felt prickly. He passed his right hand up and down his left arm. “Just... try to blend in,” he said. It was easier to let Spike believe they were hunting demons. “If anything, you know, pops out at you, then come find me. I’m going this way—” he pointed at the staircase nearest to them “—and you go that way.” He pointed to the staircase at the far side of the level. The place was big. He might actually be able to avoid Spike long enough to find Lana and take her somewhere private. “It could take a while,” he added.  
  
Spike lifted an eyebrow at him. “Right,” he said. He didn’t say anything else, so Angel turned and began walking to his staircase, feeling Spike watch him from behind. He was a little self-conscious in just his t-shirt and low-slung pants, which hugged his hips in a way he wasn’t used to, but he was anxious to find the girl, single-minded in a way he hadn’t been about another person in a long time. He tried not to think about possible reasons for his sudden change in attitude. He just wanted some human contact. Was that so wrong?  
  
Once on the middle level, Angel scanned the groups and pairs of young people sitting at the tables and booths and standing at each bar. He didn’t see Lana, but he did see two of the girls from her group standing at the bar closest to him. That meant the others weren’t far away. Lana was probably somewhere in the sea of dancers below them, and he felt relieved that she most likely hadn’t left yet.  
  
Angel approached the bar and squeezed into a space beside the two girls. He ordered a beer and dropped some cash on the counter while from the corner of his eye he noticed the two girls noticing him. He waited for the bartender to pour his drink into a tall glass, then he took a sip from it and turned in their direction. “Hi,” he said.  
  
“Hey, you’re that guy,” one of them replied. She looked like she wasn’t quite sure, though. To her friend, she said, “He’s that guy. Right?”  
  
The friend squinted at him. “I don’t know,” she said playfully. “Are you that guy?” She was twisting one strand of her long hair around her finger.  
  
Angel smiled at her. “That’s me. I’m the guy.” He watched her finger, the smooth lock of auburn hair sliding around it. “Is Lana around?”  
  
“He was wearing something different, though,” the first girl said.  
  
“Maybe it’s not him.” The second girl moved closer, pretending to study his face. “Can you prove you’re _you_?” she asked intently. She smelled of rum and vanilla and raspberries and salt. Her face was bright, a little shiny, but her eye makeup hadn’t smeared. Angel could see the slightest hint of damp at her temples. She must have been dancing.  
  
“Alright.” He leaned down close to her ear and said, “What can I do to convince you?” His cheek was warmed just from being near her.  
  
She laughed and pushed him gently. Angel noticed that she left her small hand on his arm longer than necessary. He took another drink of his beer and smiled.  
  
“Lana’s dancing,” the girl said. “We’ll go get her. Stay right here.”  
  
“Right here,” Angel repeated, leaning back on the bar.  
  
“Right _exactly_ there,” the girl said, and laughed. She took the other girl by the arm and pulled her in the direction of the stairs down to the dance floor.  
  
Angel waited, sipping his beer and surveying the people. There were more women than men, which he supposed was to be expected. Good odds. This place would be a good hunting ground.  
  
That thought nearly startled him, and he took a longer drink of his beer, covering. He hadn’t had a thought like that in ages, except in reference to whatever kind of demon he was tracking. He told himself he meant to think it was a good hunting ground for vampires in general, not specifically for himself. On another glance around the club, he happened to catch the eye of a pretty blonde sitting in a booth with three friends. He gave her a brief smile, and she smiled back, then shyly looked down to her drink. Of course, it would be easy pickings for himself as well. If he were still into that sort of thing.  
  
While he was pondering whether or not the alley behind the club would be more suitable for sexual trysts or light feeding, he caught sight of Spike heading in his direction. He cursed inwardly and turned toward the bar, hoping the other vampire hadn’t noticed him, but soon enough Spike came up to the bar beside him and ordered a beer.  
  
“Saw a couple of Mok’tagars,” Spike said while the bartender poured. “Should be an easy slay if you wanna, but they’re just having a bit of fun. And I smelled something near the back door, maybe a half-Davric. Not here anymore, but we could go after it. Your call.” He dropped a few wadded-up bills on the bar and picked up his beer.  
  
“No, I think we should stay here,” Angel said. “For now. See if anything else comes up.” Spike smelled very faintly of other people. He’d probably had to brush by some of the humans while he walked around, transferring their scent like a bee transfers pollen. Angel felt a small jolt of arousal at the thought of random humans touching Spike’s skin. He turned his back to the bar again. “On second thought, you go. I’ll hang around here for a while and keep looking.”  
  
Angel could feel Spike’s eyes on him as he drank his beer. It was a little unnerving, like at any moment Spike was going to accuse him of something. He hadn’t done anything wrong! Why should it be weird for him to want to spend a little time on the weekend doing something that wasn’t work, with people who weren’t colleagues?  
  
Regarding him carefully, Spike said, “Maybe I’ll hang around, too. Probably not a Davric anyhow; could be someone just ralphed in a honey jar.” He was watching Angel for a reaction to this, so Angel deliberately didn’t react.  
  
“Suit yourself,” he said.  
  
“Yeah, it’s always better to wait,” Spike went on. “You know. Let the evil come to you. Make them do all the work.”  
  
“Is that what you were doing while we took out the modusbeasts?” Angel finished his beer and set the glass on the bar.  
  
“I told you,” said Spike. “I was busy. Now you want to share why we’re _really_ in Bubble Hell?”  
  
Before Angel could think of a reply that wouldn’t sound utterly ridiculous, Lana and the girl with the long auburn hair appeared beside him.  
  
“Angel! You came,” Lana said. She reached up and put her arms around his neck, leaning forward against him with absolutely no regard for his personal space. Angel’s hands went naturally to her bare back, palms resting against the silky, slightly damp skin. She smelled even better now than she had on the train, more drunk perhaps, but also warmer, more alive. She was wearing one of those glow-in-the-dark necklaces, and her very short hair was spiky in the back with perspiration from dancing, but she looked beautiful and felt beautiful in his hands. His cock stirred.  
  
“I said I would,” he said, smiling down at her face, which was turned up toward him with a very open and cheerful expression. _Don’t say anything, Spike_ , he thought. _Just go away._  
  
“Leaning on the bar looking cool and everything!” said Lana with a laugh. She slid her hands down to his chest and then pushed herself upright again, separating their bodies. He let her go reluctantly. She gestured back toward her friend. “This is Rachel,” she said.  
  
Angel smiled over Lana’s shoulder at the other girl. “We met.” Rachel was taller than Lana – all of her friends were – and she was smiling slyly. Her eyes flicked over in Spike’s direction, then back.  
  
“Who’s your friend, Angel?” Rachel asked.  
  
Shit. “That’s Spike,” said Angel, not looking at him. He knew if he looked at Spike, he would see an expression that would make him feel guilty and stupid. Not wanting to linger on the introduction, he said playfully to Lana, “You didn’t lean on anyone else, did you?”  
  
“I was waiting for you!” said Lana.  
  
Rachel was giving Spike an intrigued once-over. “Spike,” she said, like she was trying it out. “What, are you in a gang or something?” Angel cleared his throat so he wouldn’t laugh.  
  
“It’s just a name, pet,” said Spike. He didn’t sound particularly angry, but Angel still didn’t look him in the eye.  
  
“And people really call you that?”  
  
“My friends do, yeah.” He set his nearly empty beer glass down on the bar with a clink.  
  
Rachel pouted. “So what should I call you, then?”  
  
“That depends,” said Spike. “Do you want to be my friend?” The way he said it made a prickle go down Angel’s back, so that he finally did have to look at Spike. Spike had leaned close to Rachel in a near-perfect impression of relaxed flirtation, but Angel could tell by the set of his shoulders that he was only covering for the fact that he was irritated.  
  
The girl grinned and blushed prettily, and Lana laughed. “Hey,” she said, turning to Angel. “We should dance!”  
  
“We should?” Angel asked.  
  
“Oh, you really should,” said Spike. “Angel here loves to dance, did he tell you?” His voice was shaded with that cheerful ‘I hate you’ tone that he often used when he was annoyed, but neither of the girls seemed to notice. He clapped a hand on Angel’s shoulder and squeezed. “It’s hard to take your eyes off him once he gets started. Graceful as hell. Like a giant bloody swan.”  
  
Lana’s eyes lit up with hope. “Really?”  
  
Angel shrugged Spike’s hand off his shoulder and turned toward him. “Thanks, Spike,” he said brightly. “That means a lot coming from someone who’s been taking ballet lessons since the eighties.”  
  
“Why don’t we _all_ dance?” Rachel said, lightly resting her hand on Spike’s arm. Angel thought Spike might have punched him if she hadn’t. “I’m no ballerina,” she said with a smile, “but I’ll try to keep up.”  
  
“After you,” said Angel. He gestured toward the staircase down to the dance floor, expecting Spike to make some kind of excuse, which would then allow him to make an excuse as well without losing face. But one very brief hesitation later, Spike said, “Sounds like fun,” and threw Angel a challenging glare before escorting Rachel toward the stairs. Angel’s jaw clenched.  
  
“I thought you said you weren’t good at dancing,” said Lana. “Were you kidding? Or was he kidding?”  
  
Angel took her small hand and reluctantly began to follow Spike and Rachel. “He was kidding,” he admitted. “I’m really not very good.”  
  
She wrapped both of her arms around Angel’s arm and giggled. She felt so warm. “I don’t mind,” she said as they walked. “Maybe I can teach you. It’s not very hard.”  
  
“I'll do my best,” he said.  
  
“Does your friend really do ballet?” Lana asked.  
  
Angel glared at Spike’s back. “All the time,” he lied. “You should see the outfits.”  
  
The closer they got to the dance floor, the more intensely the smell of sex permeated the air. Angel was pretty sure he could smell someone actually fucking somewhere in the sea of bodies. The music when they got to the bottom of the stairs was so loud that he almost flinched away from it. Spike and Rachel had paused at the edge of the crowd.

Lana shouted, “My friends are this way!” and pulled Angel forward, Spike and Rachel following. As the four of them weaved through the moving bodies, Angel felt the warmth and occasional brush of damp skin against him. The scent of people was nearly overwhelming, but somehow not in a bad way. Being surrounded by all the pungent smells, both female and male, almost gave him a contact high. He couldn’t separate them from each other. It was like being inside one giant, horny human.  
  
They eventually made it to a place somewhere in the middle, where Lana and Rachel greeted their four friends. Without much preamble, they started to dance beside the other girls. Angel stood still, watching them for a moment, then looked around at the other people. No one was paying any attention to him except Lana, who was making encouraging movements toward him with her hands. He risked a glance at Spike, but Spike was already starting to move in rhythm to the thumping music. Smooth, subtle movements, which Rachel was mirroring in front of him, her hand on his chest. It struck him that Spike didn’t look anything like an old man trying to fit in at a dance club. He looked like he belonged.  
  
Angel had just enough time to wonder if Spike did this very often before Lana grabbed his hands and put them on her hips, smiling. Her mouth formed the words, “Just move,” but he couldn’t hear her voice over the music. Her hands slid over his chest. It was more like copping a feel than dancing, but the touch motivated him. He looked at Spike again and then, since Spike wasn’t paying attention anyway, Angel began to copy his feet and hip movements. He listened to the beat of the music and tried to do the motions in time. Within seconds, he had caught the hang of it. It actually _wasn’t_ that hard.  
  
Lana moved naturally with Angel, their bodies very close. Her hands went up his chest, paused at his shoulders, and then slid down his arms sensuously, making his whole body tingle. “Nice,” she mouthed. “That’s good.” Her eyes flicked to his lips and then up to his eyes again, and the longer he looked at her, the less self-conscious he felt, and the more turned on. He slid his hands back and down over her ass and pulled her closer. She gasped delightedly and pressed her hips to him.  
  
Why he had never tried this style of dancing before, Angel couldn’t fathom as he gyrated with Lana. It was intimate and sexy and actually kind of fun. He wanted to kiss her, but he didn’t want to stop grinding against her like this, and she was so short that he couldn’t manage both things at once. The music thumped through him while they danced; it made him feel almost like he had an actual pulse. He even forgot, as he learned his way around Lana’s body, that there were other people there. When he remembered and looked up, he caught sight of Spike eyeing them over Rachel’s shoulder, but the blond quickly looked away.  
  
 _Eat your heart out, Blondie_ , Angel thought smugly. He suddenly turned Lana away from him and pressed himself against her warm back, going into a slow grinding motion he’d noticed some of the other dancers do earlier. Lana went with it smoothly, giving him a suggestive look over her shoulder. His hands slid up her sides to rest under the hem of her halter top, fingers to soft flesh. Her butt pressed against his thigh. God, he was hard.  
  
The next time he looked over, Spike was watching them again. The two vampires made eye contact for a long moment, but Angel couldn’t tell from his expression what Spike was thinking.  
  
The song never ended. At least, the beat didn’t. Angel went on dancing with Lana even after her friends had left the floor for more drinks. Spike went on dancing with Rachel, too, but Angel could feel Spike’s attention was now more on him than on his own partner. Not that it interfered with his dancing – Spike and Rachel themselves made a display worth studying. Between sharing sizzling eye contact with Lana, Angel found himself watching the other couple move, their hips grinding, their hands roaming over one another’s backsides, two beautiful creatures in perfect sync with each other. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’d always considered dancing as a sort of mating ritual, but it had never been so blatantly sexual to him before. Maybe he’d just never paid that much attention. He began to notice that other people were watching Spike and Rachel as well. And then he began to notice others watching _him_.  
  
On top of everything else, all the smells in the club, the bass making his whole body vibrate, the tactile sensations of Lana’s warm body against his, Angel found that this was the thing that turned him on the most: being watched. So many people desiring him, desiring his body, wanting to touch him, be touched by him, wanting to fuck him. It was such a heady feeling! And why _wouldn’t_ they want him? He was a champion! He soaked it in, the admiration. He basked in it. He felt like he could conquer the world. He briefly wondered why in the hell he felt this way, but pushed the thought aside. What difference did it make? He felt too good to care.  
  
Lana’s arms were around his neck again, and she was rubbing herself against him like she wanted to mark him with her scent. He had his hands on her ass, and on a whim, he simply picked her up. Her eyes went wide for a moment, but then she laughed and crossed her ankles behind his back, trusting him to hold her up. He did so easily, still moving his hips, still _dancing_ , his grinding now more focused, and at the same time, he kissed her. She kissed him back with a delicious eagerness, one hand at the back of his neck and the other pushing through his sweat-dampened hair. She tasted as beautiful as she smelled.  
  
They kissed on the dance floor for a long time, still moving against each other in some semblance of a dance. If they’d been naked, they could have been fucking right there in front of everyone. Lana had her eyes closed. Angel opened his to see if anyone was still watching. They were. A sea of people glancing at them and looking away and then looking back again, jealous.  
  
And Spike.  
  
Angel watched Spike while he kissed Lana. To his credit, Spike didn’t break eye contact. It was a little confusing, not knowing whether it was Lana’s mouth or Spike’s gaze that made him so hot, but it only took a few seconds before Angel decided he couldn’t take much more. He finally tore his eyes away from Spike and, still holding the girl, started walking toward the back of the club. He didn’t know exactly where he was going, but he had the impulse to take her somewhere darker, less crowded than the dance floor with all its sex-starved occupants and the bubbles wafting down to burst gently against damp hair and hot skin.

Lana giggled helplessly and buried her face against his neck as he carried her off like a trophy, weaving between the dancers, his hands holding her ass beneath her skirt, his stiff dick nestled perfectly between her thighs. Near the back of the club, not far from the trampoline, Angel spied an exit sign, and he made a beeline for it.  
  
Supporting Lana with one hand, Angel used his other to shove the emergency exit door open, and then he stepped out into the back alley with his prize, the door swinging closed after them. The fresh night air of the alley was cooler than the thick warmth inside La-La Land, but it didn’t do much to clear Angel’s head. He felt intoxicated, drunk on Lana’s scent, and his cock was so hard he knew he wouldn’t be able to wait long enough to find a more appropriate place.  
  
He pressed Lana against the outside wall of the club, bracing her bare back against the cool bricks, and started kissing her again, her hot mouth. Her lips and tongue tasted of vodka and lemon. She tangled her fingers in his hair and tugged, moaning softly, while her other hand slipped down between them and grabbed the hem of his white t-shirt. She tugged it up and slid her warm hand under the material and around his back, feeling him, skin to skin. Her fingernails grazed his back.  
  
“God, you’re so – you’re so fucking hot,” Lana mumbled against his lips. “The way you dance... fuck!”  
  
Angel just mmphed and kept kissing her against the wall, one hand supporting her, the other pushing up her halter top. He wriggled his hand up underneath the close-fitting material until it covered one of her breasts. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Her whole body felt like it was burning him.  
  
“Shit,” Lana gasped. Her body jerked as his fingers closed around her nipple. The small spasm scraped her shoulder against the rough bricks at her back, and she flinched back from his kiss. “Ow, God,” she said. “Hey, can you...?” She laughed quietly, out of breath, as he kissed down her neck. “Put me down for a sec?”  
  
It took him a moment to register what she had said through the fog in his mind. Put her down? He didn’t want to put her down. His mouth was pressed to the pulse point on the side of her neck. He could feel the flutter of her heartbeat against his lips. Then he smelled the blood. A single tiny drop welling up where her shoulder had been scraped. Oh, fuck.  
  
“Just need to – heh – catch my breath for a second,” she said, squirming, trying to put one leg down. Her toes dangled inches off the ground. “Angel? Just – just – let me stand up, okay?”  
  
Angel mustered every ounce of self-control he had and finally lowered the girl’s legs to the ground. He was breathing raggedly, the smell of her blood so close. He slowly lifted his mouth from her neck and at the same time let his hand slip out from under her shirt. He braced both hands against the bricks over her shoulders and let his forehead drop down to rest against her head, closing his eyes, trying to steady himself. He didn’t know what had gotten into him. “I want you,” he said huskily.  
  
He heard her swallow. Her hands were both under his shirt now, hot on his back, fingertips disappearing down the low waistband of his pants. “Right now? Here?” she breathed.  
  
He nodded, not opening his eyes. He felt one of her small hands slide around to his front and gently cup the erection that was tenting his black pants just under his belt. The muscles in his arms trembled as she felt along the bulge. “Oh, shit...” she said.  
  
“Please don’t say no,” he whispered. The words just came out; he didn’t feel like he had any control over them at all. It was almost as though he were hearing someone else say them, someone more desperate than he had ever been. He stood there, braced against the wall with the girl between his arms, his forehead resting on her soft hair, the tangy scent of her blood lingering in the air, and tried not to lose himself as she let her palm skim up and down the length of his hard cock.  
  
“Fuck,” she murmured. “I don’t normally do this.”  
  
Quietly, Angel said, “Neither do I."  
  
He heard the crunch of his features changing before he actually felt the change. It sounded like it was happening far away. Her neck came toward him. Then Lana's flesh parted easily around his teeth like soft cheese, and her hot blood rushed into his mouth like an old dream he had never forgotten.  
  
The girl screamed.  
  
*


	2. This isn't a slumber party!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How can you not know? It’s a simple question, Angel: either you feel possessed or you don’t.”

  
  
*  
  
If Spike hadn’t been there, of course, the girl wouldn’t have survived. Angel would have fucked her and drained her dry in that alley, possibly both at the same time, and he would have had to suffer the guilt of that for the rest of eternity, just as he suffered the guilt of all the times he’d done it before. Even if she hadn’t been so small, Angel still would have been much, much stronger than Lana, and there was something about the way his head was all clogged up with the thick smell of sex that had him not thinking clearly, not stopping himself. She would have been a goner for sure; it wouldn’t even have taken very long. But like the twitchiness that Angel just couldn’t seem to shake, Spike _was_ there, and so things went a bit differently.  
  
Lana fought him. She screamed in his ear and struggled violently, lashing out with her fingernails, stomping on his feet. It made all the difference of a fly buzzing around a rhinoceros. He just pressed her hands to the wall and growled into her neck. She did manage to land a sharp knee to his balls, which startled him. He paused in his drinking long enough to process the wave of sensation caused by the impact. It hurt, but it hurt the way scratching hurts when you’re on acid – a throbbing that doesn’t quite feel the way you know it’s supposed to – and his throbbing balls only reminded him of how badly he needed to come. Every part of his body held every part of hers against the bricks. _Shhh,_ he felt like saying. _Calm down. Let’s enjoy this._  
  
And then he was flying backward across the alley and slamming into another building. His vision swam for a moment.  
  
“Run,” he heard Spike say to the girl, and Lana took off out of the alley, crying and clutching her bleeding neck.  
  
Angel was still showing his demon, and he stood up, trying to shake it off. There was blood in his mouth. He swallowed. “This isn’t what it looks li—” he started, but Spike’s fist hitting him in the jaw cut him off. Angel could still taste the girl, but now he could taste his own blood as well. “Spike, just hear me out—” he tried again, and again Spike punched him in the face. He stumbled backward.  
  
“This is why we came here?” Spike demanded, advancing on him. “You were hunting _humans_?”  
  
Angel shook his head again, trying to clear it. He was still lost somewhere in the moment of Lana’s skin, salty and hot to his tongue. Her blood, so rich. Spicy. Her hand rubbing his cock. He was so hard. But now she was gone, and he felt so _empty_. He needed... fuck, he needed...  
  
“Answer me!” Spike shouted. For every step he took forward, Angel took one back down the dank alley, trying to wrap his head around what was happening. “How did you lose it?”  
  
“Lose it?” Angel repeated. He reached up and ran his thumb across his bottom lip and looked at it. Red.  
  
“Don’t fucking play coy with me, Angelus,” snarled Spike. “How did you lose your _bloody soul_?” Then he lunged forward, tackling a very confused Angel to the ground.  
  
The two vampires scrabbled around on the ground for a while, Spike shouting things like, “I sodding knew I’d have to kill you one day, you evil son of a bitch!” and Angel shouting, “Get the fuck off me Spike, I’m not evil!” and neither one of them actually making much progress toward winning. Angel managed to catch Spike in a headlock for a few seconds, but the next thing he knew, Spike was sitting on top of him with his hands wrapped around Angel’s neck. Angel flipped them over and pushed Spike’s face into a puddle. Spike punched Angel in the kidney and climbed on top again.  
  
“Spike!” Angel grunted, trying to block Spike’s fists. “Spike, listen to me!”  
  
“I should’ve known!” Spike was saying as he hit Angel. “Should’ve smelled it! But how’m I supposed to smell anything over how strongly you _reek of sex_? What the fuck _is_ that, Angelus? You go out whoring before you decided to kill that little girl?”  
  
Angel grabbed hold of Spike’s fists and rolled them again, landing on top of the blond, his stone-hard erection pressing into Spike’s hip. “Spike, I haven’t—” he started. “I haven’t—” _For God’s sake, stop wriggling!_ “I—” Angel shifted his hips. “Uh...”  
  
“What? Fucking _what_?” hissed Spike.  
  
Angel’s hips shifted again. Friction. He wasn’t doing it on purpose exactly, but the lay of his cock happened to align precisely with the place where Spike’s hip and thigh met, and he just couldn’t stop his body from moving against that perfect hollow. “I haven’t... lost my soul,” he managed.  
  
Spike briefly paused in his squirming, but he still glared suspiciously at Angel. A second later, Angel felt the momentary pause turn into an uncomfortable freeze, and he saw Spike’s eyes widen in disbelief when he realized that Angel was thrusting against him.  
  
Angel registered Spike’s utter stillness and shocked expression, but it was too late to stop. He was at the point where he _needed_ to move. His hands tightened on Spike’s fists, and he began to thrust faster, grinding down against the hard body beneath him in the middle of the alley. Separated by their clothes, Angel’s erection slid repeatedly forward and back in the groove at the top of Spike’s thigh. The rubbing was quick and intense, but what actually set Angel off was the feel of the cloth pulling back and forth over the sensitive head of his damp cock. After the night he’d had, it didn’t take much of this before he was ready. “I’m... sorry!” Angel gritted out. And then his entire body shuddered.  
  
It was one of the most powerful orgasms he could remember having. It didn’t matter that it happened while he was fully clothed, lying on the ground in an alley on top of Spike of all people, arguing. He shook all over, and an almost euphoric feeling spread throughout his muscles as he unloaded spurt after spurt of cum in his pants, gasping and gripping Spike’s hands. He squeezed his eyes shut tight so he wouldn’t have to see Spike’s face as he came like this.  
  
When it was over, Angel’s hips stuttered to a stop, and the fog in his head slowly began to clear. He could feel the sticky warmth clinging to him under his clothes, and the shocked-still body of the vampire underneath him. Angel carefully pushed himself up off of Spike and rolled over onto his back beside the blond on the alley floor. He landed half in a puddle, but it didn’t matter. Lying there, Angel reached up and rubbed his face with his hands. All he could think was, _What the fuck is wrong with me?_ Then he swallowed and said in a remarkably steady voice, “I haven’t lost my soul, Spike. But something’s definitely not right.”  
  
After a long moment, and without moving, Spike said flatly, “You think?”  
  
*  
  
The ride back to Wolfram and Hart after that was awkward. Spike insisted on cuffing Angel’s wrists just in case, which Angel agreed to because it was the only way Spike would allow him in the car. His clothes were grungy from rolling around in the alley and he’d dripped blood on his shirt and his pants had a wet spot which was only slightly less conspicuous because of the wet spots on his back and shoulder from lying in a puddle. His balls hurt, and he had bruises all over from Spike’s fists. He was dirty and tired and embarrassed and confused, and he just wanted to get home and take a shower.

Spike got a pair of sturdy steel cuffs with a very short chain from the trunk of the Mercedes, and Angel put out his hands. Spike cuffed his left wrist, then quickly maneuvered the right wrist behind Angel’s back and fastened the other cuff.  
  
In a tired voice, Angel said, “Really?”  
  
“Not taking any chances,” replied Spike.  
  
It didn’t make much difference to Angel whether he were cuffed in front or in back since he wasn’t planning on trying to escape anyway, but at least if he had been cuffed in front then he would have been able to rest his hands in his lap, discreetly covering the stain. Now it was going to be obvious.  
  
Angel waited beside the car while Spike gathered their coats out of the passenger seat. When the seat was free, Angel sat down, leaning back on his hands uncomfortably. Spike put on his duster, which did a fair job of covering all the places where he was dirty and bruised. He was left with his t-shirt and Angel’s sweater and coat. After a brief hesitation, he dropped them back inside the car over Angel’s lap and then quickly shut the door.  
  
They didn’t speak for the first few minutes of the drive back. Angel wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t know why he’d bitten Lana. He hadn’t wanted to, not any more than he normally wanted to bite humans. At least, he hadn’t _planned_ to. Of course he felt like doing it when they got to the alley, but it had never occurred to him that that’s what was going to happen when they got there until it was already happening. All he knew for certain about the whole incident was that if Spike hadn’t been nearby, the girl would have died. As it stood, Angel was pretty confident that she wouldn’t suffer lasting damage. There’d be a scar, but he hadn’t actually taken much blood. Spike had saved Lana’s life, but he’d also saved Angel from having to live with the guilt her death would have caused him.  
  
Eventually Angel just said softly, “Thanks.”  
  
Spike gave him a surprised look, then cleared his throat and looked out through the windshield again. “Glad one of us enjoyed it,” he muttered.  
  
Angel frowned. “What?”  
  
Spike opened his mouth, then shut it. Finally he said, “What are you talking about?”  
  
“The girl. Thanks for saving the girl, Spike.”  
  
“Oh. Right.” He shrugged dismissively. “Well, we’re in my half.”  
  
“What did you think I was—”  
  
“Nothing,” said Spike.  
  
They sat in silence. Angel shifted his legs and immediately regretted it as his jacket began to slip off his lap. He could just see the edge of the damp spot on his pants. He could smell the spend that was seeping through, and he knew Spike must be able to smell it as well, but the scent was mostly smothered out by the leather coat.  
  
“This the first time it’s happened, then?” Spike asked after a while. “The feeding, I mean, not the...” He shut up and made a vague gesture that probably meant coming in your pants on top of someone in an alley.  
  
Angel looked away. “Yeah,” he said.  
  
Spike nodded. His shoulders were tense. “So if you’re not on the hunt again, and don’t think I believe for a second that you’re not – that innocent look means nothing to me, Angel, I invented it – then why did you feed on a human?”  
  
As he thought about it, Angel felt a series of tiny sparks cartwheel down his spine. He’d bitten someone. A living person. Her blood was inside him right now, healing his bruises, making him feel warm. The whole Lana incident wasn’t actually much different from the way he used to do things a hundred years ago. Find victim, seduce victim, feed. Kill. What on earth had possessed him?  
  
“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe I’m...” He stopped.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I was going to say possessed.” Angel’s ear itched. He tried to ignore it.  
  
“Oh. Well, wouldn’t you know if you were possessed?”  
  
“I don’t know. I don’t think it works that way.”  
  
“Think I’d know if _I_ was possessed.”  
  
Angel twisted to face him. “Spike, you have no idea what I’m going through here!”  
  
Spike tightened his grip on the wheel, frustrated. “Well, do you _feel_ possessed?”  
  
The only two times Angel had been possessed before, he didn’t have any control over his actions. He had lost control tonight, but it didn’t feel the same. He didn’t feel like he was acting out someone else’s story; he just couldn’t stop himself from acting out his own. “I don’t know,” he said.  
  
“How can you not know? It’s a simple question, Angel: either you feel possessed or you don’t.”  
  
“I... sort of,” said Angel.  
  
“You sort of? How can you feel _sort of_ possessed? That’s like saying you sort of drink blood or you sort of wear black. ‘Sorry, Miss Random Vampire Slayer, I didn’t mean to kill her, see, it’s just that I’m _sort of_ possessed. Not to worry, though. _I sort of have a soul!_ ’”  
  
“Look, I don’t know how to explain it. Lately I've been having these... urges...”  
  
Spike grimaced. “We are _not_ talking about your...” He flapped his hand in Angel’s direction. “ _Urges._ ”  
  
“Well, what do you want me to say?” said Angel, finally giving in to the itch and rubbing his ear vigorously against his shoulder. The coat in his lap slid down even more, and he stopped. “I had this sudden impulse to bite Lana, so I did. That’s all. I couldn’t stop myself, and I...” He sighed and looked out through the passenger side window. “I don’t know what it means,” he finished.  
  
Spike bit his tongue on anything else he might have said about it, letting Angel process things in silence until they reached the Wolfram and Hart private parking garage. As he pulled the Merc into its parking space, he finally asked, “Is this gonna happen again?”  
  
Angel almost said no immediately, but then he realized he actually had no idea. He didn’t think he was likely to bite anyone right _now_ , but he hadn’t thought he was going to bite Lana either. The idea that he could become dangerous at any moment without realizing it angered him. After so much time spent learning to withstand temptation, to control his instincts, having that control stolen by some unknown force wasn’t just frightening – it was fucking unfair.  
  
“I don’t know,” he said bitterly. “For now, we should probably just... consider me a danger to humans.”  
  
“Angelus lite, then. Shouldn’t be too difficult.”  
  
After he turned off the car, Spike came around to Angel’s side to open the door. He had to take the jacket and two shirts from Angel’s lap before Angel could climb out, and as Spike leaned in to grab the clothes, Angel noticed him looking at the spot on his pants. It wouldn’t have been quite as embarrassing if the spot hadn’t also been accompanied by the distinct smell of Angel’s release. It had been evident enough during the drive but became much more obvious when Spike removed the clothes. They didn’t linger on the moment, but it was sufficiently awkward that Angel wondered if he should say something about what had happened. On the other hand, he couldn’t imagine that conversation going anywhere productive, so maybe it was best not to say anything. He climbed out of the car as gracefully as he could with his hands cuffed behind him, and Spike shut the door.  
  
Since it was almost two in the morning, there wasn’t anyone else in the building. Angel hoped that Spike would uncuff him at some point soonish, but he knew Spike wasn’t going to take any chances that Angel might have really lost his soul and was just pretending to be harmless until he could escape. And Angel respected that. It was a smart move to keep him cuffed. But it was irritating as hell.  
  
When Spike followed him into the elevator, Angel said, “No chance of a reprieve?” and indicated his hands.  
  
Spike huffed. “You know better.”  
  
“There aren’t any humans around,” Angel pointed out.  
  
“What, I’m not allowed to be concerned for my own bloody safety?”  
  
“I’ve never known that to stop you from doing something stupid.”  
  
Spike tilted his head at Angel. Even with the fading shadows of bruises from their fight, he still looked ridiculously young with his hair curling in all different directions. “What would you do if I did let you out?” he asked.  
  
Angel almost replied, _I’d take a shower and go to bed,_ but he knew what Spike was really saying. He shrugged. “Punch you in the mouth for being careless.”  
  
“Right.” Spike looked as though this were exactly the answer he expected. “Though I suspect you’ve met your ‘punch Spike in the mouth’ quota for the weekend, thanks.” He ran a thumb across his bottom lip, which was still a little swollen.  
  
“Close,” said Angel, “but not yet.”  
  
“I’ll bear that in mind.”  
  
When the elevator doors opened into Angel’s penthouse, he stepped out, but Spike hesitated. “Well?” said Angel. He wasn’t exactly sure what the blond had in mind in terms of locking him up. Keeping him cuffed all the way here only to free him and leave seemed a waste of effort.  
  
Spike was frowning at the buttons on the elevator console.  
  
“What are you doing?” Angel asked. He stepped back into the elevator to look at the console, but Spike pushed him back out again.  
  
“Trying to remember,” said Spike. He pursed his lips. Finally, with a shrug, he tapped out a six-button pattern. Angel heard a compressive hiss throughout his apartment and in the elevator shaft. “Got it in one,” Spike said, grinning smugly. “Now you’re stuck in here ‘til we come get you.”  
  
Angel narrowed his eyes. “You have a code to put my penthouse on lockdown?” It was actually a smart idea, one he would have approved of if he’d known – though he would have limited who had access to it. He could easily imagine Spike locking him in just for fun.  
  
Spike nodded. “The perfect prison cell, specially customized for broody soulless buggers, care of one Wesley Wyndham-Price.” He leaned back against the wall in the elevator. “Personally, I’d have made the space smaller, but he said it was better to do the whole flat. Easier to make sure you were in the right place ‘fore we locked you in.”  
  
“Good idea,” Angel acknowledged.  
  
“Well, I think I’ll be going, then,” said Spike, looking quite proud of himself. “You have a nice night. Should be fun trying to sleep with your hands back like that.” He reached out and tapped another button on the elevator console. The doors closed on his trademark smirk.  
  
Angel just stood there waiting.  
  
A moment later, the elevator doors opened again. Spike was still standing inside, looking confused. He looked up at Angel, then pressed the button again and the doors closed.  
  
Angel waited.  
  
The doors opened again. “What the—” started Spike.  
  
“You probably weren’t supposed to be up here with me when you enabled the lock,” Angel said patiently.  
  
Spike stared at him.  
  
“Just a guess.” Angel shrugged.  
  
“No,” said Spike. “No, no...” He punched the button again. The doors closed. When they opened back up, Spike was facing the back of the elevator, leaning his forehead on the wall, shoulders slumped. “Balls.”  
  
Angel smirked. He turned his back to Spike. “Hey, you mind unlocking these now?” he said, indicating his hands. “They’re starting to chafe.”  
  
*  
  
It didn’t actually take much convincing to get his cuffs released once Spike had done a thorough search of the apartment to see if either of them would be able to escape. Angel privately suspected that Spike believed him when he said he hadn’t lost his soul. He was basically just going through the motions of protocol, which Angel was grateful for. Even though he didn’t feel like he was going to attack anyone else, there was no way to know for certain. It was better to be careful, and whatever else Spike was, at least he was being careful. Well, except for the elevator thing. When Angel asked why he didn’t just undo the locks, take the elevator down a couple of floors, and do them again, Spike explained that there was only one release mechanism, and that was on the fourth floor. He didn’t say where on the fourth floor it was. Angel figured it was probably somewhere in Wesley’s office, but he didn’t mention this.  
  
Spike had prowled around the apartment grumbling, looking for some kind of escape route while Angel waited, cuffed, by the elevator. As Spike did this, Angel curiously stepped into the elevator and looked at the control panel. The six floor numbers that formed the combination were still lit up. He rolled his eyes. Okay, so Spike wasn’t actually being careful at all. At least he couldn’t tell what order they went in. And there wasn’t a way for him to release the lockdown unless he went to the fourth floor. He stepped out of the elevator again and waited for Spike to return. When he did, Spike grudgingly unlocked the cuffs.  
  
“I guess I should call Wes,” Angel said, rubbing one wrist. “See if he has any ideas about what happened.”  
  
Spike wandered across the room, shrugging off his duster. He threw it over the arm of the couch. “Middle of the night. He still at your beck and call after hours?” He slumped down on the couch dejectedly.  
  
“I could ask him to come up to the office and let you out.”  
  
“Yeah?” Spike brightened. “Should probably do that, then.”  
  
Angel retrieved his cell phone from the pocket of the jacket he’d worn tonight, which Spike had dropped to the floor as soon as he stepped into the apartment. He called Wesley’s home phone, but there was no answer. Then he called Wesley’s cell. There was no answer there, either, so he left a brief voicemail for Wes to call him back as soon as he got the message.  
  
Spike scowled. “Watcher’s not at home? Don’t tell me he has an actual life outside of being your gopher.”  
  
Angel shrugged. He was going for dismissive but most likely came across as confused. It wasn’t like Wesley not to answer his phone when Angel called, no matter what he was doing. “Looks like you’re sticking around for a while,” Angel said. “I’ll try him again when I get out of the shower.” He hung up his coat and headed for the bathroom, stripping off his t-shirt as he walked. He’d been sweaty and dirty and sticky all night, and it was all starting to dry on him. He couldn’t wait to feel clean again.  
  
*  
  
His entire evening had been pretty bizarre, Angel thought as he stepped under the warm shower spray, but the weirdest part to him – well, besides going to a dance club to meet a girl and then actually dancing with her, and then of course the whole biting thing – was that he’d been feeling restless and unlike himself all night, but almost as soon as he had orgasmed in the alley, he became calm and went back to being himself again. He used the hot water to rinse the sticky mess away where it had coated his thigh and pubes. If his release had actually triggered a reset to normal, it occurred to him that whatever was happening could have started a long time ago, but because he was climaxing regularly, it had never become a problem before. Tonight he had let the twitchiness build up until he hurt someone.  
  
Angel took a bar of soap and worked up a lather between his hands. He washed himself all over, pondering the idea. Was it a spell? A spell to make him want to be close to people, and then when he got close, to bite them? It worked in theory, but if he really felt like hurting someone, why on earth would having an orgasm make him not want to hurt that person anymore? That didn’t make any sense. Of course, he hadn’t really wanted to hurt the girl in the first place. He just wanted to have sex with her; the biting was a surprise to them both. He rinsed, then squirted some shampoo into his hand and began to rub it into his hair.  
  
If he were under a spell, what was the point of it, the endgame? To make him unpredictable, maybe. To cause his friends to stop trusting him, to lock him up. He wouldn’t be available to help if something evil went down while he was under house arrest. Or maybe it was more for his benefit than theirs, so he would start second-guessing himself. But why go through the trouble of a spell just to make him unpredictable? Surely there were more effective spells to take him out of the game. Why not just kill him? Cast a sunlight spell on his office in the middle of a work day. That would make more sense. Or why not–  
  
“Oi! Poof!” Spike called through the bathroom door. “You clean enough yet? Other people might like some hot water, you know!”  
  
“I just got in here!” Angel called back.  
  
“Well, hurry up, yeah? I know what you’re doing. It’s rude to touch yourself when you’ve got company.”  
  
“I’m _not_ touch– You’re not company, Spike! This isn’t a slumber party!”  
  
“If I step in something slippery, you’re getting kicked in the face.”  
  
Angel took a deep, annoyed breath, and rinsed his hair. He _wasn’t_ touching himself. Typical of Spike to assume–  
  
Angel frowned. He was actually starting to feel kind of...  
  
Oh, this was just great. Angel eyed his soft penis disdainfully as it gave a twitch and began to swell. He shut off the water and stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist. Then he stood very still and concentrated. When he was reasonably sure his body was a calm temple, nothing twitchy and certainly nothing erect about it, then he exited the bathroom. Spike was standing there waiting his turn, arms crossed over his chest. “Towels in the cabinet,” Angel muttered as he passed.  
  
Spike huffed. “You spent that long showering, and you didn’t even wash? I’ll never understand the Irish.”  
  
Angel turned toward him, confused. “What?”  
  
“I mean, you got all these fancy soaps in bottles and shaped like seashells and whatnot in your giant fancy shower, and you can’t even pick _one_?” Spike shook his head. “Unbelievable.”  
  
“Spike, what the hell are you talking about? Of course I used soap.” Angel lifted his arm and sniffed himself, then glared at Spike. He’d used Zest. He smelled like Zest. “Feel free to smell me if you need proof.”  
  
“Oh, I can smell you, alright,” muttered Spike. “Could smell you from across the bloody room.”  
  
Angel’s mouth fell open, but Spike just stepped into the bathroom and shut the door with a loud thump. A moment later, the water came on. Uncertainly, Angel sniffed himself again. He smelled perfectly clean! Spike was just being an asshat, like usual.  
  
Angel dried himself off and put on a pair of soft black pajama pants with a drawstring. He was still toweling his hair with one hand as he called Wesley again. It rang several times before going to voicemail. Where could he be? He also tried Wesley’s home phone again with no luck. Then he called Fred. He didn’t get her either, but found that, oddly, her voicemail message had been changed. It used to say, “Hi, you’ve reached the phone of Winifred Burkle. I’m probably working, but I promise I’ll call you back if you leave me a message. Oh, and if this is Angel, remember to press 1 before you start to talk, okay? Bye!” Now it said simply, “This is Fred. I’m busy. If it’s important, leave a message. Otherwise, just leave.”  
  
Wow. Angel hesitated, but ended up just leaving. He could always get in touch with his team in the morning, even if it meant having to spend the rest of the night locked in his apartment with Spike.

He wondered if Fred was okay.  
  
Spike’s shower was easily twice as long as Angel’s. Angel thought about going to the door and yelling rude things through it, but figured that would just be stooping to his level. Anyway, he needed to figure this spell thing out. He sat down on his bed. Tonight was the first time he’d bitten someone, so maybe the spell hadn’t started until today. Who could’ve cast a spell on him today? The only people he’d interacted with had been his coworkers, Lana, and Lana’s friends. Could one of the girls have cast the spell? Possibly, but why would one of Lana’s friends want to hurt her?  
  
He’d already been feeling twitchy before he met them, though. Was that part of the spell, or was it just hormones, like he’d thought? If wanting to have sex was somehow an effect of the spell, then who knows how long it could have been going on? He always wanted sex. This could have been happening for years! It could literally have been happening for over 250 years. Angel sighed. And this was just assuming that he was under a spell. It might not be a spell at all. Maybe there was something to that possession theory. Or maybe... maybe he was just out of control.  
  
He needed Wesley.  
  
When Spike finally came out of the bathroom, he was followed by a billow of steam and the very strong aroma of every single type of soap, shampoo, conditioner, or body wash that Angel owned, even ones that hadn’t been opened before. The smell of so many different cleansers hung around Spike like a cloud, almost completely obscuring the natural scent of his skin. If Angel’s sense of smell hadn’t been so finely tuned lately, the cover probably would have worked. But he recognized the tiny thread of a muskier scent hovering just beneath the overpoweringly sweet and fresh cloud: Spike had come in the shower. When Angel realized this, he felt a prickle sneak down his back. He wondered what Spike had imagined while he jerked off standing in the place where Angel had been standing just minutes before.  
  
Angel stood up and turned his back to the blond, who was dripping water all over the carpet, clutching a towel closed at his waist. His wet hair stuck straight up on all sides, and he seemed pretty pleased with himself, probably assuming Angel had no idea what he’d been doing. Angel went to his dresser to find something clean for Spike to put on. God knows he couldn’t have him wandering around the apartment naked. He took a steadying breath through his mouth so all the smells wouldn’t give him a headache. “Jesus, Spike,” he muttered. “Think you used enough products?”  
  
“ _Some_ of us actually know how to get clean,” said Spike. “Speaking of which: honey-apple facial scrub, Angel? Really? And you call yourself a vampire.”  
  
Angel sniffed. “You seem to have liked it just fine.”  
  
“Ah, but I didn’t scrub my face with it. Got any food in this place?”  
  
Angel grabbed another pair of drawstring pajama pants from one of his dresser drawers, this time in dark blue instead of black. The material was thin and soft. He turned toward Spike and threw the folded pants at him. Spike caught them one-handed. “There’s blood in the kitchen,” Angel said.  
  
Spike eyed the pants he was holding and then looked at Angel’s. “Matching pajamas,” he said. “Cute. You sure it’s not a slumber party?”  
  
Angel crossed his arms. “Don’t bother heating any blood for me,” he replied coolly. “I already ate.”  
  
Spike’s jaw clenched. Angel might as well have slapped him in the face. Of course he immediately felt guilty for using the night’s unfortunate events as a passive-aggressive attack – there was nothing more Spike could have done to stop what had happened – but it did have the intended result of shutting him up. With a glare at Angel, Spike took the blue pants and stalked out of the bedroom.  
  
*  
  
Eventually, Angel said, “Tomorrow I’ll send someone to make sure she’s okay.”  
  
He’d been watching Spike from behind as he poured some blood in a mug and began to heat it in the microwave. Spike was wearing Angel’s pants and nothing else, the thin material riding low on his hips. Most of the scrapes and bruises from their fight in the alley had already completely faded, leaving his skin smooth and white with only a couple of darkened places that would be healed soon enough. The light in the kitchen was the only one on in the entire apartment, and when Spike turned just right, Angel could see the tiny clear hairs at the small of his back reflecting the light. He imagined running the palm of his hand down the indent of Spike’s spine, feeling the places where bone was close to skin, where muscles shaped and curved. He cleared his throat.  
  
“The girl will be fine,” Spike said, not looking at Angel.  
  
“Thanks to you.”  
  
Spike shrugged one shoulder. His hair was still wet, but he’d combed it back. Without gel, it wasn’t likely to stay in that position when it finished drying.  
  
“How did you know?” asked Angel. “That she was in trouble, I mean. That I would... hurt her.”  
  
“Didn’t,” said Spike. The microwave beeped. He took the mug out and looked into it, swirling it around a little.  
  
“Then why did you follow us?” Angel briefly wondered if Spike had been planning to spy on them having a quickie in the alley. His stomach clenched pleasantly at the idea of having sex in full view of Spike. It had been a century since the last time that happened. He put a hand up to rub his neck.  
  
“I may have... sensed something,” Spike said. He didn’t seem to want to talk about it. He took a sip from his mug, then a longer drink. Finally turning to Angel, he added, “You weren’t exactly behaving like a hero.”  
  
Angel crossed his arms and leaned his shoulder against the kitchen doorway. “Heroes aren’t allowed to dance?”  
  
Spike tilted his head, giving Angel a steady look. “Not the way you were doing it.”  
  
“Oh. I... yeah.” Angel coughed. “That was new. You sure seemed to know what you were doing out there, though.”  
  
“I was undercover, like,” Spike dismissed. He drank more of his blood and then added, “’Sides, I’ve only been souled for two years. Still got loads of nasty habits.” He smirked.  
  
“Yeah, about that,” said Angel. “Don’t smoke in my apartment.” He turned his back to Spike to hide his own smirk and walked toward the bedroom.  
  
“You’ve got to be bloody kidding me,” said Spike, sounding dismayed.  
  
“I’ll try Wes again in the morning,” Angel said over his shoulder. “Turn off the light when you’re finished. And don’t get any blood on my couch.”  
  
Feeling satisfied that he and Spike were on good – or at least familiar – terms for the night, Angel pulled back his bedcovers and slid into the right side of the bed. He almost always slept on the right side, even though it was a big bed and he didn’t share it with anyone. He’d left the bedroom door open, and he could see the traces of light still coming from the kitchen. Eventually, he heard Spike set his mug in the sink, and then the light flicked off. Very quiet footsteps made their way into the den. Angel heard Spike sit on the couch and dig something out of his duster, and then there was the snick of a lighter lighting. Angel nearly called out for Spike to put out his cigarette immediately, but then he realized that no cigarette had been lit. Spike was just playing with his lighter. After a moment, Spike muttered, “Ponce,” and the smell of the tiny fire disappeared. Angel smiled.  
  
*  
  
He didn’t get to sleep right away. He tried lying on his back with his arms by his sides, then on his front with his arms shoved under his pillow. He turned to his side and put the pillow over his head. Covers pulled up. Covers kicked down. No matter how he arranged himself, Angel could still sense Spike in the other room, and it was distracting as hell. He wasn’t used to it, sharing his penthouse with someone else. Even though they were separated by a wall and plenty of space, he could still smell the blond lying on the couch in the den, could still hear him shifting around. Breathing.  
  
There was absolutely no reason why this should turn him on.  
  
Angel rolled to his back again, resting one hand on his stomach and one on his chest. The cloud of soap scents had started to dissipate little by little, and now Angel could more clearly smell Spike, the remnants of excitement still flowing through his body after having masturbated earlier. Angel’s cock began to swell, and he rolled restlessly onto his side again. Normally, he would just reach down and take himself in hand, but he couldn’t do that with Spike lying on the couch in the other room; it would be obvious what Angel was doing. On the other hand, the idea of jerking off while Spike listened and could smell him turned Angel on even more. He rolled back onto his back. He let his right hand skim down his bare stomach and then over the front of his pajama pants, giving his dick a gentle tug through the thin material. It plumped up even more.  
  
Then he took his hand away and pulled the pillow out from behind his head and put it over his face, holding it there in frustration. What the hell was he doing? He had more control than this!  
  
Angel eventually slept, but it was a fitful and broken sleep. He dreamed about Lana, about her smooth, round ass pressed against him, his large hands folding around her hips, while Spike watched them. Then he dreamed about Drusilla, about holding her down with his hands on her throat to stifle her giggles, fucking her fast and careless specifically so that when Spike got home, he’d smell her sire’s spend inside her, marking her. It would still be there when Spike took her himself, pushing wetly inside on Angel’s cum.  
  
The bedside clock said 3:56AM when he awoke, covers twisted around his legs, his full cock lying heavy against his thigh under the black material of his pajamas. The whole apartment was dark and still. Angel pressed his palms over his eyes, trying to force away the images from his dreams, but he could still smell Spike as clearly as if he were fucking Dru right now in Angel’s bed. Angel reached down with one hand and slowly gave his erection a squeeze. A small throb of pleasure spread through his body. Then he heard a quiet breath, and he opened his eyes.  
  
Spike stood in front of the window beside the bed, the faint moonlight seeping in between the blinds casting him in silhouette. The black outline of his body hugged itself around the middle like a nervous child.  
  
“Spike?” Angel whispered, letting his hand fall away from his crotch. He heard Spike swallow. “What are you doing?”  
  
“Dunno,” Spike quietly replied. “I just had to...” His voice trailed off.  
  
“Had to what?”  
  
Spike reached up to rub at his neck. “I just can’t... What _is_ that, Angel?” He seemed agitated.  
  
Angel pushed himself up to a sitting position on the bed. He rubbed his eyes again and looked around. “What is what?”  
  
“That smell,” said Spike. “Why do you smell so...” He made a frustrated noise and turned from the bed toward the window, carding his fingers through his hair.  
  
Angel gave himself a sniff, just as he’d done earlier when Spike had accused him of not washing. “Smell so... what?” Angel asked. “What do I smell like?” He didn’t detect anything out of the ordinary. He smelled just like he’d always smelled.  
  
“Can’t concentrate,” Spike muttered. “Dunno how you expect me to sodding sleep while you’re in here like—” He waved his hand toward Angel as though he couldn’t be any clearer.  
  
Being reduced to a dark outline on a light background emphasized the shape of Spike’s muscles. Angel studied the contours of the lean body standing by the bed, the flow of line nearly uninterrupted by the thin pants hugging his hips. But there was a distinct bulge at the front, noticeable when Spike turned at an angle. He was aroused.  
  
Angel said, “Spike, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  
  
Spike turned and gave him an incredulous look. He came close to the bed so he could look Angel directly in the eyes and then said slowly, like he was talking to an idiot, “There’s a scent. Coming off you. Like a sodding _slayer blood buffet_. How can you not know that?”  
  
“A what?” Startled, Angel sniffed himself again. Nothing. Fucking Zest.  
  
“It’s why I followed your sorry arse out of that club! Couldn’t help myself. It’s bloody irresistible. What in the _actual_ fuck did you get yourself into, Angel?”  
  
“I don’t know,” said Angel. “I can’t smell anything. I mean, I smell like I always have. A slayer?” He tried sniffing himself again. At this proximity, he could smell Spike quite clearly, but his own scent remained unremarkable.  
  
“Or... no, not a slayer,” said Spike, coming closer. He put one knee on the bed and leaned toward Angel, breathing. “Like– I can’t describe it. Like blood and... clover.”  
  
“Clover,” repeated Angel.  
  
Spike shook his head, looking frustrated. He braced his hands on the bed and crawled forward, still breathing, his lips parted slightly to pull the scent into his throat. He put his face very close to Angel’s chest and closed his eyes. “Like something pure,” he murmured, half to himself. He took a slow, deep breath and moved his face up to Angel’s neck. Angel stayed completely still, sitting on the bed with Spike leaning over him. “You smell the way sunlight feels,” whispered Spike. His lips grazed Angel’s skin as he spoke.  
  
“I don’t understand,” Angel said softly. With Spike so close, all he could really think about was his strong desire to have sex. He tried to concentrate on their words – how on earth could anything smell like sunlight? – but he just wanted to touch the vampire kneeling beside him, to run his hands over Spike’s sleek muscles and dig his fingernails into Spike’s back. He couldn't remember ever wanting Spike like this before.  
  
Spike’s head fell forward to rest lightly on Angel’s shoulder, his soft hair tickling Angel’s neck. “Bloody hell,” he said. Angel could feel him trembling. “Sorry, Angel, I just can’t—” His hand came up to Angel’s other shoulder. He took a ragged breath and then buried his face in Angel’s neck. “I just need to touch you,” Spike managed, his voice muffled against Angel’s skin.  
  
Carefully, still confused, Angel raised his hands from the bed and slid them around to Spike’s back, the pale skin silky under his palms. He gently pulled Spike close against him and murmured, “Okay.” The younger vampire shifted, keeping his face pressed to Angel’s neck. Spike’s knee went over both of Angel’s legs, and he settled easily into Angel’s lap facing him, their bare upper bodies together, each touching the other one in many places at once. Angel slid one hand down Spike’s spine and back up again, feeling him exactly the way he’d imagined doing in the kitchen earlier. His erection pulsed between them, very close to Spike’s.  
  
Spike continued to inhale deeply over and over against Angel’s neck. “Doesn’t make sense,” he mumbled. His fingertips dug into Angel’s shoulders. “Can’t bloody stand you, but all I can think about is...” He pressed a kiss into Angel’s neck.  
  
Angel tilted his head to give Spike more room, his neck tingling. “Same here,” he breathed. He pulled Spike’s hips forward. Their rigid cocks bumped through the thin material of the pajamas.  
  
“Taste like fire,” Spike murmured. “Like music.” He sucked the place over Angel’s jugular, his teeth scraping bluntly over the skin.  
  
Angel’s mouth fell open on a soft sound. He pushed his fingers up through Spike’s hair and held him there. His neck felt so sensitive. His whole body practically buzzed, alive with want. His other hand swept down the curve of Spike’s back, and his fingers slipped under the soft blue pants to grasp round flesh.  
  
“Been like this a few days now, but tonight it’s just... too much,” Spike gritted out, deliberately shifting his hips forward again. He abruptly pulled away from Angel’s neck and took both sides of Angel’s head in his hands. They stared at each other, both of them breathing, their lips parted. Spike swallowed. Angel couldn’t look away from his mouth. “You smell like food,” Spike said, his voice low, ragged. “But not the kind you eat. Don’t understand it, it’s like...” Spike leaned in and pressed his cheek to Angel’s cheek, closing his eyes. “I smell you, and I want to rip you open, roll around in your blood. Cover myself with it.” He inhaled deeply. “But if I did that, it would ruin you. So what do I do with you instead?”  
  
Angel didn’t expect the words to turn him on as much as they did, but to be fair, he was already more aroused than any normal person would’ve been able to withstand, and anything Spike said at that point in his low, gravelly whisper would’ve been sexy, including threats of bloody ruin. Because he didn’t know how to answer Spike’s question, and because talking was too much work, Angel simply turned his head and caught Spike’s mouth in a kiss.  
  
At first, Spike didn’t respond. But then something seemed to overtake him – passion, maybe, or urgency, or perhaps just acceptance that this was what they were going to do now – and he began to kiss Angel back almost ferociously, holding Angel’s head in place so he could dictate how it was going to go, the tilt of their faces and the exact amount of pressure. Angel went along with it, too aroused to pay much attention to finesse. It wasn’t romantic, and it was by no means gentle, but it was exactly the answer that Spike had been looking for.  
  
The two vampires kissed earnestly in the dark of Angel’s bedroom, Spike shifting forward on Angel’s lap, trying to get closer, possibly trying to get _inside_ him. He was still breathing in Angel’s scent, and when he exhaled, a quiet sound came from his throat, nearly a whimper. Angel held Spike’s body close, skin to skin, and soaked in the smell of Spike’s excitement, as strong as his own. He peeled one hand from Spike’s back and pushed it in between them.  
  
Angel’s hand didn’t know where to touch first. They'd never done this together. He rubbed his palm along the length of his own cloth-covered erection, then rubbed along Spike’s. Spike grunted into Angel’s mouth and dropped one hand down to join Angel’s in the tight space between their bodies. He yanked his drawstring untied and pushed down the blue cloth, then yanked on the black string. Angel fumbled the black pants down as well and wrapped his hand securely around his impossibly hard cock. He gave it a squeezing stroke upward and felt a tiny drop of wet land on his fingers. Spike’s nostrils flared at the scent. Angel took Spike’s in his hand next and also gave it a tight stroke.  
  
Spike tore his lips away from Angel’s lips to curse and look down at their naked erections, the two pale columns nearly equal in length and girth, cast in the shadow of their bodies. Angel’s foreskin was pulled back slightly more than Spike’s was, the round pink tip just peeking out, shiny with precum. Spike reached for it, wrapped his cool fingers around Angel’s dick and slid the skin down, the full head emerging slowly. Angel shivered as Spike stroked down and then back up, drawing the skin up to cover the cockhead again. Another drop of fluid came out, sliding across Spike’s fingers.  
  
“Spike—” Angel breathed.  
  
“Shh,” said Spike. He put his fingers up to Angel’s lips, quieting him. He left a smear of precum there when he pulled his hand back, and then he leaned in to kiss it away. Angel could taste himself in the kiss, and his cock pulsed out another drop without even being touched.  
  
Spike eventually pulled away to stare at Angel’s mouth. He looked a little confused. Before Angel could ask what was wrong, Spike kissed him again, sucking Angel’s bottom lip into his mouth and running his tongue across it. When Spike suddenly pulled away a second time, he looked down at his wet fingers. Then he licked his hand, following the tiny slick trail with his tongue.  
  
Angel watched, mesmerized, as Spike reached for his cock again. He caught a bead of fluid from the slit on the tip of one finger, then lifted the finger to his mouth. He closed his eyes. “Fucking hell, Angel, you taste like a virgin.”  
  
“What? That’s impossi—”  
  
Spike cut him off with another deep kiss, his hand wrapping itself around Angel’s thick erection. He began a slow but steady pumping that made Angel’s entire body quiver. His toes curled up, and he dug his fingernails into Spike’s thighs as Spike squeezed his cockhead, another drop rolling out of the slit. Spike’s thumb spread the shiny fluid in a streak down the underside of Angel’s shaft. Angel broke their kiss to groan, “Spike...”  
  
“I want this,” Spike breathed, “in my mouth.”  
  
Angel nodded and let go of Spike so that he could move. Spike slid down Angel’s body, his own hard cock bobbing in the air, until his face was close to Angel’s groin. Leaning back against the headboard of his bed, Angel watched as Spike bent to study the desperate organ sticking up from Angel’s crotch. It was thick, with a pink head and a very slight curve upwards that gave it an almost eager quality. Spike slid the skin down with his fingers, and it caught under the ridge of the head, a small gather that stayed on its own. Angel could feel the air around it move as Spike inhaled his scent. Then Spike licked a slow stripe over the wet slit, and Angel had to grip the mattress at his sides very tightly so that he wouldn’t grab the blond head and force it down.  
  
Spike went on licking Angel’s cockhead, soft, wet swipes of tongue over just the crown. Precum bubbled up as Angel groaned quietly, and Spike lapped at the slit, cleaning it carefully off. “So sweet,” he murmured between licks. “Innocent.”  
  
Angel wanted to protest that he wasn’t sweet _or_ innocent, but he was too consumed with sensation to manage more than, “Spike, please...” The fog that had been in his head when he was with Lana was forming again, thick clouds separating his rational thoughts from the way his body processed tactile feelings. All he could respond to was touch.  
  
Spike paused long enough to tuck his fingers into the loosened waistband of Angel’s pants and pull them down and off, kicking his own off as well, before taking Angel’s dick in his hand and licking it again. Angel spread his legs to accommodate Spike’s body between them. Spike had one hand firmly around Angel’s penis and the other gripping Angel’s thigh when he finally slid the shiny pink knob between his soft lips and began to suck.  
  
“Holy _fuck_ ,” Angel quietly gasped, his hips jerking a little. Spike only had the tip inside his wet mouth, but he was sucking on it in earnest, allowing just a tiny bit to slide out and then sucking it in again. His hand worked Angel’s shaft steadily, tight fist sliding up to meet wet lips and then sliding back down. Angel couldn’t look away. He breathed heavily through parted lips while he watched Spike pump him. Then he slid his right hand into Spike’s hair, just holding him there, his hips twitching up and down in tiny, near-involuntary motions. “Christ,” he said. “Yeah...”  
  
“Tastes so good,” Spike pulled back to say. A thin string of spit and precum connected his bottom lip to the head of Angel’s cock. “Could go on doing this forever.” As he sucked the slick head back into his mouth, he reached down to cradle Angel’s balls in his palm. He tugged them down a little, making Angel hiss.  
  
“That’s—yeah, that’s gonna make me come, Spike,” Angel warned, his voice tight.  
  
“Do it,” Spike murmured, lips grazing sensitive flesh. “Come in my mouth.”  
  
Angel’s belly clenched at the words. He watched Spike take him in again, his cock splitting those pink lips wide, those hands – one holding his balls and the other giving his erection tight, rapid strokes – coaxing his orgasm forward. It had already built up inside, a thick, tense wall of feeling that was going to come crumbling down at any moment.  
  
Angel slid his other hand into Spike’s hair as well, and his fingers curled tightly into the platinum strands as his whole body suddenly shuddered. “Oh, fuck,” Angel gasped, coming hard. He didn’t see the first shot or the second because Spike’s mouth was there, his tongue massaging the underside of Angel’s cockhead, sucking the fluid directly out of Angel’s body. He could hear Spike swallowing, milking the cum into his mouth. Spike’s tongue danced over the plump head as he squeezed every drop out of the shaft. Angel panted, dizzy, as he watched one particularly heavy spurt leak from the corner of Spike’s mouth.  
  
He felt weak when it was over, his limbs heavy and dull. The fogginess was still there, but it was receding slowly, at least enough for him to remember that this sort of thing wasn’t at all normal for the two of them to be doing together. It crossed his mind that it didn’t make any sense that they didn't have this kind of relationship, before he realized that it made even less sense for them to start now. Spike still had his lips wrapped around Angel’s dick, but his sucking had become very gentle, and it gave Angel a couple of pleasant aftershocks before becoming too much for him.  
  
Angel slowly eased Spike’s mouth away, and his wet, pink cockhead plopped out into the cool air. Still breathing softly, Angel swallowed and said, “What about you? Do you want me to...?” He let the question linger in the air, options open.  
  
Spike looked up at him, his pupils dilated like he was on drugs. He knelt up slowly, using one thumb to swipe some of Angel’s spilled semen into his mouth. Then he kissed Angel on the lips. His left hand came up to the back of Angel’s neck, fingers pushing into Angel’s soft brown hair while they kissed. His right hand was pulling his own cock, short, tight strokes, focusing on the head. Angel’s hands went to Spike’s hips, holding him steady. He could taste himself in Spike’s mouth.  
  
Spike knee-walked closer, as close as he could get, straddling Angel’s thighs like before. Angel had to tilt his head back to go on kissing him until he sat, more or less on Angel’s lap. “Gonna mark you,” Spike mumbled against Angel’s lips, his breath short and sharp. “My scent. All over you.”  
  
Angel slid his hands to Spike’s back and scratched his fingernails down it. Spike moaned into his mouth. He was pumping himself very quickly. Angel could feel Spike’s body tensing, almost ready, Spike’s fingers clutching his hair. He skimmed his hands up Spike’s back again, palms rubbing over the sting his fingernails had left.  
  
Spike’s mouth dropped open, and he shut his eyes, groaning quietly. One last jerk, and he was coming, his seed shooting out over Angel’s stomach. He worked his hard cock through the orgasm, wringing out his release with body-shuddering spasms, coating Angel’s skin with cum. Angel watched this happen, looking down into the dark space between their bodies, his cheek pressed to Spike’s cheek. “Shit,” he whispered as the spend began to drip, sliding coolly down his body.  
  
Spike exhaled slowly, squeezing out the last of it between thumb and forefinger with a tiny shiver. Then he looked at his wet hand. Angel couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Maybe Spike’s mind was starting to clear too, and he was having the same doubts that Angel had, wondering why on earth the two of them had so suddenly and blatantly turned their entire relationship on its head in a single night. Angel wasn’t sure how he felt about it, himself. Maybe it would be different if they’d somehow fallen naturally into bed together, but he was sure this had something to do with the spell – or whatever it was – that had been making him act so out of character lately. Clearly it was having an effect on Spike, too. They would never have done this otherwise.

Angel watched Spike looking at his hand. He tried to ready himself for the awkward conversation that was sure to start at any moment, wondering briefly if it would be better for them to get dressed first.  
  
Spike looked up from his hand and into Angel’s eyes. His pupils were still wide and black. Slowly, he reached out and wiped his wet fingers across Angel’s neck.  
  
“Um,” said Angel. “Spike?”  
  
“Shh.” Spike put his hand on Angel’s stomach, right in the middle of the whitish drips, and swiped upwards, rubbing the fluid into Angel’s skin. He did this several times while Angel sat unmoving on the bed, eyebrows drawn together while he watched. “There,” Spike finally said. He leaned forward, laying his head on Angel’s shoulder, and inhaled deeply near Angel’s neck. “Now you don’t smell so innocent.”  
  
 _Okaaay,_ Angel thought. _Maybe it takes Spike longer to snap out of it_. He folded his arms around Spike’s naked back and sighed. It was still dark out. They would stay here, just like this, until the spell wore off. Hopefully everything would be back to normal by morning.  
  
*


	3. He's. Mine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel sighed. “Ohhhh,” he sang reluctantly, “I wanna dance with somebody. I wanna feel the heat with somebody. Yeeeeah, I wanna dance with somebody. With somebody who... please God, tell me you’ve got enough.”

  
  
*  
  
Angel didn’t exactly wake up, because he hadn’t exactly slept. He’d merely zoned out for a while, getting the kind of half-rest you get when you stay in one place and dream in stops and starts but never fully lose consciousness. The reason he couldn’t sleep was because Spike was wrapped around him and they were both naked, and the whole situation was too weird to be comfortable. So he didn’t wake up when his phone rang, but he did open his eyes.  
  
Spike sighed into his neck. “S’pose I should move, then,” he said.  
  
“Unless you want me to carry you over to the phone.”  
  
Spike actually seemed to consider this option for a moment before finally peeling himself away from Angel. He’d been lying there for several hours, so their skin had adhered in more than one place with dried semen, and they both grimaced at the feeling of pulling away. Spike flopped onto his back on the bed, and Angel stood. He didn’t remember what it felt like for his legs to fall asleep, but they could still feel restless, so it was nice to be able to move around again. He stretched briefly and then walked naked over to his ringing cell phone, all the while feeling the distinct sensation of being watched from behind.  
  
“Hey, Wes,” he answered.  
  
“Angel.”  
  
“Listen, I need your help with something. Do you think we could meet today, maybe get the whole team in?”  
  
“On a Saturday? It must be urgent.” Wesley’s voice sounded tired.  
  
“Sorry. I know it’s supposed to be your day off, but I’m not sure this one can wait.”  
  
“I understand. Where would you like to meet? Perhaps we can all do lunch somewhere.”  
  
“It’ll have to be at the office. I’m...” He wasn’t sure how to say this. “Well, I’m actually kind of... trapped in my penthouse. I was hoping you could let me out before everyone gets here.”  
  
There was a pause down the line. Then Wesley said, “Angel, how did you manage to become trapped in your penthouse?”  
  
“Oh...” Angel tried to sound like it was no big deal. “Spike locked me in.”  
  
“Spike locked you in.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Did he say why?”  
  
“Something happened last night. I can give you the details later, but we decided the best thing to do was to keep me away from humans for a while. I’m fine now, though. We just need to figure this out before it gets any worse.”  
  
“I see. And why hasn’t Spike let you out?”  
  
“Spike’s actually... well, he’s locked in here with me.”  
  
Wesley sighed. “Spike’s _with_ you.”  
  
“Yeah. Kind of a funny story. Just not, you know, ‘ha ha’ funny. But we need someone else to release the lockdown.”  
  
“I see,” said Wesley again. “So, just to be clear: you’re a danger to humans, it will probably get worse, Spike has locked himself in your penthouse, and you’d like for me to release you with no proof that you still have a soul or that Spike is even alive?”  
  
Angel turned toward the bed. Spike hadn’t bothered to cover himself, was just lying on his back naked, hands behind his head, propped up on a pillow so he could watch Angel. Spike’s eyes flicked down to Angel’s crotch for barely a second before meeting his eyes again. Still and relaxed in the morning light coming through the blinds, he looked like a painting, or an artistic photograph, something Angel might have admired if it hadn’t been so surreal.  
  
“Spike’s fine,” Angel said as he and Spike looked at each other steadily. “You wanna talk to him?”  
  
“Please,” said Wesley.  
  
Spike held out his hand. Angel tossed the phone to him.  
  
“Watcher,” said Spike.  
  
“You thought he was sufficiently dangerous to enable the penthouse lockdown protocol, and yet you locked yourself inside _with_ him, both endangering your own life and ensuring that the lockdown will never catch Angelus off guard.” Angel could hear Wesley talk, though he was standing several feet away from the phone. There was something odd about it – not just that he sounded annoyed, but his voice was softer than usual, more pained. Angel crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, watching Spike hold the phone to his ear. Spike was still looking at him.  
  
“You’re welcome,” said Spike into the phone.  
  
“Tell me what he did, at least.”  
  
“Only the usual vampire thing. Drank some bint in an alley.”  
  
“He killed a woman?”  
  
“Course not. I stopped him, didn’t I? Dragged his arse back here.”  
  
“And proceeded to trap yourself in with him overnight.”  
  
“Never would’ve happened if someone had explained the locks properly.”  
  
“Or if someone had read the manual.”  
  
“I stopped a sodding murder, Wesley. What more do you want from me? I’m only human.”  
  
Angel lifted an eyebrow. The corner of Spike’s mouth twitched up.  
  
“Quite,” said Wesley evenly. “Well, is it your opinion that Angel is still in possession of his soul?”  
  
Spike tilted his head thoughtfully at Angel. “Yeah.”  
  
“Do you have any idea why he would bite someone?”  
  
“Not a clue.”  
  
“Do you think it likely to happen again?”  
  
“No way to be sure, really.”  
  
“But you think it’s safe to let him out.”  
  
Spike hesitated, and Angel frowned at him. “Didn’t say that, did I?” Spike said.  
  
“So you _don’t_ think it’s safe?”  
  
“Spike, I’m fine. I’m not going to bite anyone else,” Angel said irritably.  
  
Ignoring this, Spike said, “With supervision, maybe. He’s been a bit unpredictable, but not especially dangerous – long as he’s being watched. Wouldn’t send him out without a tail, though.”  
  
Angel glared at him but didn’t object to this.  
  
“Are you offering your services?” asked Wesley. “I’m not feeling up to it, myself. It would actually suit my schedule to leave you both locked in until Monday morning, unless you can promise he’ll behave.”  
  
Spike scowled. “And he’s my responsibility how, exactly? Already done my bit by saving the girl.”  
  
“I believe he became your responsibility when you became his flatmate.”  
  
It was always a little embarrassing to be discussed like this by his friends, as though he were some kind of overgrown child, but Angel told himself to put their safety above his pride and simply muttered, “It’s not like you have something else important to do this weekend, Spike.”  
  
“What about patrolling my half of the city?” Spike demanded.  
  
“Yeah, you really need to let this ‘half’ thing go.”  
  
“Are you saying you wouldn’t feel safe taking him with you?” asked Wesley.  
  
Spike rolled his eyes. “Fine! Whatever. I’ll watch the poof. But you need to get your research on and find out what’s wrong with him. I’m not a sodding nanny.”  
  
“Thank you, Spike,” said Wesley.  
  
Spike huffed and threw the phone back to Angel.  
  
Angel and Wesley arranged to meet at lunchtime in one of the smaller Wolfram and Hart conference rooms. Wesley would alert the rest of the team, as well as come by the office a few minutes early to activate the release mechanism for the penthouse. Angel was in charge of ordering food for the meeting.  
  
After hanging up, Angel casually dropped the phone on his dresser and continued to look at Spike naked in his bed. Spike was still looking at him as well. They regarded each other evenly for a long moment. Finally, Angel said, “We should probably talk about—”  
  
“Nope,” said Spike.  
  
“No?” Angel didn’t move or give any indication, but he was still confused about what had happened last night and was hoping they could come to some sort of understanding between themselves before having to deal with other issues. It wouldn’t be productive to sit in an important meeting with his friends but be wondering the entire time what was going on in Spike’s bleached head.  
  
Spike gave a nonchalant shrug. “It just happened. Doesn’t mean we have to make something out of it.” He averted his eyes from Angel’s face for a moment but then looked back. On anyone else, the expression would have been one of casual disinterest, but Angel knew Spike well enough to see through the cover. He was just as confused as Angel was.  
  
“Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t talk about it, either,” Angel replied. “You might not know this about me, Spike, but one night stands aren’t exactly a habit of mine.”  
  
“Oh, so the girl you nearly shagged and killed last night. She was your girlfriend, was she?”  
  
Angel’s jaw ticked, but he remained calm. “This isn’t about her.”  
  
“And you do know that _I’m_ not your girlfriend?”  
  
“Don’t be an idiot, Spike.”  
  
“We’re not in some kind of—” Spike said it like it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard “— _relationship_. We don’t have to talk about anything. You blew a load down my throat, Angel. I had a wank on your stomach. We got off together. That’s all it was. There’s nothing else to say about it.”  
  
Angel nodded, biting the inside of his cheek. Then he said, “So that whole ‘marking me’ thing, and then the... cuddling?”  
  
Spike looked away. “Never happened.”  
  
“You mean, I _didn’t_ just spend the night with you glued to my chest muttering in your sleep about how good I smell. I just want to make sure I have this straight.”  
  
Spike nodded once. He seemed troubled but didn’t say anything else.  
  
“Fine,” said Angel. “I’m assuming this also means it won’t happen again.”  
  
At that, Spike gave him a quick look and hesitated, but then he turned away again. “Course it won’t. I don’t actually like you, you know.”  
  
“Okay. Good.” Angel turned away as well. Even if he had just agreed that Spike wasn’t his girlfriend, he couldn’t help being slightly turned on by the visual of the blond lying in his bed with no clothes. “Now that we both know where we stand, I’m going to take a shower.”  
  
“Unless we wanted it to,” Spike suddenly said.  
  
Angel turned back toward the bed. “What?”  
  
“It won’t happen again,” said Spike. “Unless we... wanted it to.” He shrugged, but the indifference looked forced. “We’re both adults. Can do what we like.”  
  
“And that’s what you’d like,” said Angel. It was meant to be a question, but it didn’t sound like one. “To repeat last night.” Objectively, he felt that there was something wrong with the idea, but it nevertheless made something small inside his body seem to flip over. Spike still smelled of him, having been pressed against his skin all night. That alone was sexy.  
  
“Maybe.” Spike let his eyes wander down Angel’s body. “If the mood strikes. Why not?”  
  
Angel glanced at the bedside clock. It had only been about five hours since Spike had sucked him off. It was obviously much more time than he needed to be ready to go again, but it didn’t seem like enough time for him to already be feeling... twitchy. He actually felt like he hadn’t come for quite a long while, and the prospect of doing it with someone else again rather than alone was a stimulating one. Even if it was Spike. And even if his whole head was saying rather insistently that it was a bad idea. He felt his blood pulling gently toward his groin, but he ignored it for the moment. “You really think that’s wise?” Angel asked.  
  
Spike slowly trailed one hand down his body to rest on his thigh. He didn’t touch anything specifically sexual, but the movement was suggestive enough. “I think,” said Spike, “you still smell like something I want in my mouth.”  
  
Angel had already taken two steps toward the bed before Spike’s words fully registered in his head. It took an effort to stop himself from closing the distance anyway, but he did manage to halt a few feet away. Spike was watching him expectantly, waiting. “Smell,” Angel said quietly. “I... smell...”  
  
“Like night rain,” said Spike. He knelt up and crawled slowly forward to the edge of the bed, close to Angel. “And cinnamon.”  
  
“And slayer blood,” Angel remembered. “And clover and sunlight. Fire, music, and virgins.” His cock was beginning to harden noticeably, but he willed himself to stay still. “That’s why you want me.”  
  
“Well, it’s not for your staggering intellect, I admit. But you’re not exactly difficult on the eyes, either,” Spike said. “In fact—”  
  
“Stop,” said Angel. “Just... wait.” He turned his back to Spike so he could think.  
  
“Okay. This view’s nice, too.”  
  
“Shut up, Spike. I’m thinking.”  
  
Spike stood from the bed and walked over to Angel. Sliding his arms around Angel’s waist, he pressed himself against the broad back of the older vampire, his semi-erection nestled in the cleft of Angel’s backside. He inhaled deeply near Angel’s neck. “Probably think better if I gave you a hand,” he murmured, letting one hand slide down Angel’s flat stomach.  
  
Angel caught Spike’s hand before it could reach his cock, which had perked up readily at the suggestion. “I don’t think so,” Angel said quietly. He didn’t move away, though. He was trying to get his mind to work. It was going slower than usual, delayed by sexual interest, but he was getting close to something important. Smell. The way things had smelled recently. He could feel Spike breathing near his ear, smelling him, probably relishing the way Angel smelled of his semen from the night before, rubbed into his skin. Why had he wanted to do that?  
  
“Come on, Angel,” Spike said. “We can go for hours before your humans get here.”  
  
Angel thought about fucking Spike. No, no... he thought about smell. Smelling Lana on the subway. The way the inside of La-La Land smelled. Everything smelled of fucking Spike. No, of sex! Everything smelled of sex. Why was he reacting so strongly to the way everyone’s bodies smelled lately? He used to smell sexual energy all the time and be able to ignore it, the same way he could smell gasoline or cigarettes or dirt and not care at all. But for the past few days, every time he smelled someone, he thought about fucking Spike. Er, that is, his body reacted to the smell. But it wasn’t just smell – it was everything! All his senses were on edge, and they all seemed to be directly connected to fucking Spike. No! To arousal, damn it!  
  
“Spike, you’re making it really hard for me to concentrate, here,” Angel said, his voice low.  
  
“Sort of the point, mate,” said Spike. His dick had filled out even more. Angel could feel it poking against his ass.  
  
“I’m not having sex with you.”  
  
“Nooo, you’re standing still. We’ll be having sex in about five minutes.”  
  
Spike had followed him last night because of the way he smelled. It was different, apparently, from his usual scent. And he'd been smelling like this – irresistible, Spike had said – for a few days. It had built up until Spike finally couldn’t stay away from him.  
  
“You don’t really want to,” Angel said slowly. He felt like he was talking through a fog. “You’re just... because of the way I smell to you... for some reason...” He was still gripping Spike’s hand against his stomach so it couldn’t slide down any further.  
  
Spike had pressed his lips to Angel’s smooth shoulder. “Course I want to,” he said, slightly muffled.  
  
“Only because I—”  
  
“Does it matter why?” Spike’s other hand swept up Angel’s stomach toward his chest. When his fingers bumped over a nipple, he pinched it lightly, and Angel felt a ripple of lust pulse through him.  
  
Yes, it mattered. Probably. Did it? Yes. Fuck.  
  
Fully intending to put a stop to this until they could figure out what was going on, Angel turned around and said, “Spike.” That was as far as he got. Whatever else he was going to say melted into a low sound at the back of his throat as Spike took his lips in a long, steamy kiss. Their erections bumped together as Angel instinctively pulled Spike’s body close, the blond’s lean muscles firm under his hands. Spike managed to turn them without parting his mouth from Angel’s and began steering Angel backward toward the bed.  
  
As soon as they landed together on the cool sheets, Angel bounded back up. Safely a few feet from the bed, he pointed an accusing finger at Spike and said, “No!” His whole self felt sensitive and empty, and his lips tingled from kissing. “You... stay! We – No, I – well, _we_ —”  
  
Spike raised an eyebrow at him. His pupils were markedly dilated again, as they’d been last night, but he seemed to be more in control of himself than Angel was. “Use your words, peaches. We...?”  
  
“Can’t,” said Angel. When Spike started to stand up again, Angel said, “No. Stay over there. If you come near me – if you touch me – I will probably fuck you.” He was startled to have said this out loud, but since it was the truth, he didn’t take it back. He rubbed both hands over his eyes and sighed, turning away from the bed. “Just, I need to think. And to shower. I’m going to shower.”  
  
“Maybe... don’t,” said Spike.  
  
“Don’t what? Don’t shower?” Angel very deliberately didn’t turn back to look at him.  
  
“You’ve still got my scent on you. I like it.” Spike cleared his throat. “It’s better than... before.”  
  
“Spike, I can’t go to a meeting covered in your...” Angel paused, inhaling deeply. He wasn’t actually opposed to smelling this way, and he knew that no one else at the meeting would be able to tell that under his clothes, he had a thin film of Spike’s dried cum coating his stomach, but he needed to clear his head. The shower was always a good place to do that. Also, it meant he could orgasm without worrying about whether or not he was taking advantage of someone. “Don’t be naked when I get out,” he finished. Then he walked into the bathroom and shut the door firmly behind him.  
  
*  
  
The rest of the morning was thoroughly awkward. Neither of them could leave the apartment, so they settled for staying in separate rooms. Spike slouched on the couch in front of the television wearing his jeans and one of Angel’s t-shirts, and Angel paced from his kitchen to his study to his bedroom and back again, only occasionally throwing glances in Spike’s direction when he walked through the den. Spike had not showered again. He smelled like Angel, and it didn’t help that he was wearing one of Angel’s shirts. He kept playing with his lighter. Lighting it and putting it out. Over and over.  
  
Angel had masturbated in the shower, of course. He didn’t even try to hide it like Spike had the previous night. His orgasms, for some reason, seemed to be getting more and more powerful, if that was even possible. Or maybe they only felt that way because he needed them so badly. But it didn’t take long at all for him to become restless again, and this time it was worse because Spike was sitting right there being somehow more attractive than usual while watching The Price Is Right and periodically shouting at the contestants to bid no more than a dollar on that luxury vacuum cleaner.  
  
It was hell.  
  
Angel wasn’t used to not knowing what to do. Or he was, but never when it came to his own body. He was usually so good at ignoring his cravings – or at least finding a way to satisfy them safely – but _this_ , this knowing exactly what he wanted and not allowing himself to take it even though it was sitting right there on his couch and wanting him back... He kept telling himself that it would be wrong because there was obviously some kind of spell at work, but then arguing with himself that it wouldn’t really harm anyone. They’d already fooled around once. If they were going to feel guilty or embarrassed later, they might as well feel guilty and embarrassed for doing it several times, right? The frustrating thing was he knew this logic was flawed but he couldn’t exactly pick out _how_. He was too distracted to examine it more closely.  
  
He called the Chinese take-out place they normally used and put in the usual order for Wesley, Fred, Gunn, and Lorne and arranged for delivery. After he hung up, he had another thought and called back to add extra dumplings to the order. Then he called downstairs to order some blood. Even though it was a weekend, Wolfram and Hart was still running, staffed by those employees who preferred to take certain weekdays off instead, often due to various religious reasons. For instance, Angel knew at least six different paralegals and three of Fred’s scientists always took Tuesdays for ritual goat sacrifices. There were maybe thirty or forty people working today. When he finished ordering lunch, he started pacing again.  
  
On the tenth time Angel prowled through the den, Spike said, without looking away from the television, “It’s your fault, you know.”  
  
At first Angel thought he was still talking to the TV, but this was during a commercial. He hesitated, then asked, “What is?”  
  
“The fact you can’t sit still. We could’ve been shagging this whole time, but no, _you’d_ rather run around up here like a giant hamster in his ball. It’s pretty bloody pathetic, Angel, if you don’t mind my saying.”  
  
“I do mind,” said Angel. “And if this bothers you, you can blame yourself for locking us in together.” He walked out.  
  
The next time Angel came through the den, Spike said, “I can still smell you.”  
  
Angel paused. “I can smell you, too.”  
  
“Not talking normal scent. It’s hanging over you like a bleeding cloud. You’re leaving a trail behind you.” He tugged at the crotch of his jeans, adjusting himself. “Can smell what you want. You’re gagging for it, mate.”  
  
“I’m fine,” said Angel. “You’re the one who keeps talking about sex. If one of us is gagging for it...”  
  
“Just stating the bloody facts.”  
  
“I know how I feel, Spike. I don’t need comments from the peanut gallery.”  
  
“Fine,” said Spike.  
  
Angel walked out.  
  
He almost didn’t walk through the den again, but finally decided that it was ludicrous for Spike’s presence on the couch to deter him from making use of his own apartment. So he walked through defiantly, the same path that he’d been restlessly retracing all morning. Spike didn’t acknowledge him, just sat there watching TV. Angel paused by the door, but no comments were forthcoming from the couch, so he continued pacing.  
  
The next time he walked through, Spike said calmly, “You’ll wear a hole in the carpet.”  
  
“I am NOT going to fuck you!” Angel shouted.  
  
Spike gave Angel a startled look and Angel looked back at him, confused, before a decompressive hiss sounded throughout the penthouse.  
  
“Oh, thank God,” Angel said. He took a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders. When the elevator doors opened a few moments later, both vampires were hovering nearby, anxious to leave the apartment. Spike had put on his duster, but Angel could still smell his scent on the blond, and he wondered briefly if it would be better for them to go downstairs separately just so they wouldn’t have to stand close to each other in the small space. But Wesley had ridden up and was waiting inside the elevator, and so Angel figured it would be safe.  
  
Until he realized that Wesley was pointing a crossbow at him.  
  
“Hey, Wes,” Angel said, as though nothing were out of the ordinary.  
  
“Angel,” Wesley said with a tiny nod. “Spike.”  
  
“Well, I was gonna watch him for you,” Spike said, “but if you’d rather dust him, by all means, have at it.” To Angel, he said, “Do I get the Viper?”  
  
“It’s just a precaution,” said Wesley. “I’m sure you can understand.”  
  
“Of course,” said Angel. But to Spike, he said, “No.”  
  
“On second thought, maybe hold off until he updates his will.” Spike stepped into the elevator with Wesley and leaned against the back wall.  
  
“I’m assuming there are other precautions in the conference room,” Angel said, not moving.  
  
“Yes,” said Wesley. “But none that will interfere with the meeting. We will all be quite safe.”  
  
“Good,” Angel said. Very slowly, so not to startle the human, he stepped into the elevator with Spike and Wesley and pressed the button for the correct floor. The doors closed.  
  
Wesley kept the crossbow pointed at him the whole way down. Angel privately decided that he would be quick enough to dodge the bolt if it went off – take it in the lung rather than the heart – but he still attempted to look as nonthreatening as possible, hunching his shoulders in to appear smaller and not making eye contact. He could see peripherally that Spike was amused by his situation.

He could also smell that Wesley had had a rough night – not enough sleep – and he had that slightly stale, unshowered scent of a man who was depressed. He’d been drinking, but he wasn’t drunk now. He also hadn’t shaved, and the light pink circles under his eyes indicated that he’d... cried? But not in the last few hours. He was as dignified as ever, and a less discerning person may not have even noticed that something was wrong.  
  
“How are you doing, Wes?” Angel asked after a few tense seconds. “Everything okay?” The smell of the two other men in such a small space was potent. It occurred to him that Wesley wouldn’t notice at all, and for a moment he was jealous that humans didn’t have to deal with such things, even though that sometimes put them at a disadvantage.  
  
Wesley didn’t answer right away, but the crossbow didn’t waver. Then he said, “I’m fine, Angel. Thank you for asking.”  
  
“Nothing’s bothering you?” Angel pressed gently, still not making eye contact. “Maybe something at work?”  
  
“Well, my employer may or may not be evil. It’s not exactly a low-stress job, but I think I’ll manage.”  
  
“You smell like your dog just died,” said Spike.  
  
Wesley straightened his shoulders. “Thank you for your somewhat invasive insight, Spike. I assure you both that I am fine.” As an afterthought, he added, “We all have bad days.”  
  
“If you, you know, want to talk...” said Angel. He didn’t finish.  
  
As the doors opened on their floor, Wesley said quietly, “Perhaps another time.”  
  
The three of them headed to the conference room, Wesley keeping his crossbow trained on Angel. They passed one other human employee on the way, but she didn’t seem to think it was odd that one of the department heads was poised to murder the CEO. Angel could smell in passing that the woman was pregnant, though she wasn’t showing yet. She smelled delicious. All three of them ignored her, but by the time they entered the conference room, Angel had already undressed her in his mind and was tasting her all over, holding her legs open and licking the soft insides of her thighs. He was pulled out of the daydream when Wesley spoke.  
  
“Sorry, what?” said Angel.  
  
“If you would, please,” Wesley repeated, nodding toward the chair at the head of the conference table. Angel went to it and sat down. “There’s an attachment under the table.”  
  
Angel bent to look. It was a single manacle hanging from a chain about a foot long. He picked it up, expecting it to be heavy, but it was actually quite light. He fastened it around his left wrist and looked up at Wesley. “Is this all?”  
  
Wesley lowered the crossbow. “It’s a new design,” he said. “A special compound Fred invented. So far, it’s been impossible to break.”  
  
Angel gave it a tug. The end of the chain was bolted to the underside of the table. “Feels like plastic.”  
  
“We wanted you to be comfortable.”  
  
“Thanks.” He slid his chair close to the table. As long as he didn’t raise his left hand, no one would be able to tell that he’d been immobilized. As far as restraints went, it was pretty considerate. He wouldn’t really have blamed his friends if they’d insisted on some type of muzzle. He did notice, though, that only one other chair at the table was within his reaching distance. Spike pulled this one out and plopped into it.  
  
“Where’s the food?” asked Spike. “I’m bloody starving. Hope you remembered to get dumplings.”  
  
“Food should be here in a few minutes. And yes, I remembered that you’re a freak of nature and like to eat.” To Wesley, Angel said, “I hope Chinese is okay.”  
  
“Perfect,” said Wesley, sitting down on Angel’s other side but slightly farther away. He placed the crossbow on the floor near his feet. “I talked to Gunn and Lorne earlier. Wasn’t able to get hold of Fred, so I left a message.”  
  
As he was saying this, Gunn came into the conference room. “Is it just me, or is this place freaky on the weekends?” he asked. “Feels like we shouldn’t be here. What’s up, Wes?” He pulled out the chair beside Spike and sat down.  
  
“Gunn. Glad you could join us.”  
  
“Yeah, you almost lost me to a Tiny Toons marathon.” He glanced at Angel, then looked back to Wesley. “He’s tied up, right?”  
  
Angel raised his left hand above the table to show the cuff and chain, but added, “I don’t really think I’m dangerous right now.”  
  
“Sorry man, but that means approximately zero the day after you bite someone for no reason. Hey Spike.”  
  
“Charlie boy.”  
  
“It’s because of the people who choose to work weekend shifts,” said Wesley. “Usually the more unorthodox employees. Otherwise, the building is nearly empty. It does lend the offices a certain creepiness.”  
  
“It’s cool not having to dress up, though,” said Gunn. He was dressed casually in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. Wesley was still wearing what he had worn to work the day before.  
  
“Oh, _here_ we are,” said Lorne as he entered the room. “Would you people believe I still get turned around in this place? I shouldn’t have given my P.A. the weekends off. First time minion owner’s mistake.”  
  
“They’re only minions if you’re evil,” said Angel. “I think here we just call them assistants.”  
  
“Yeah, but this one felt more comfortable with the traditional roles. And if he wants to call me Oh Great One, who am I to refuse? Sweet kid, though. Very eager to please.” Lorne sat down at Wesley’s left. “Except for that pesky rat-eating habit. But we’re working on that. I mean, who here’s never eaten a rat, am I right?”  
  
Gunn grimaced.  
  
“There’s a book in my department,” Wesley said. “ _A Dummy’s Guide to Minion Training_. I can get it for you, if you like.”  
  
“Oh, would you? You’re a peach, Wes.” Lorne hesitated, looking him over. “A very... tired and depressed peach. Why is Wesley such a sad peach?” He directed this question toward Angel.  
  
“PBS canceled Antiques Roadshow,” said Spike.  
  
“He’s fine,” said Angel at the same time that Wesley said, “I’m fine.”  
  
“That show was wack,” said Gunn. “I once saw an old lady get an Elvis PEZ dispenser appraised for $3,000.” Off Spike’s look, he added, “What?”  
  
“Looks like our little pow-wow is missing some crucial feminine energy,” Lorne said. “I can’t help noticing the empty chair. Is Fred coming?”  
  
“I had hoped so,” said Wesley. “I left her a voicemail this morning, but she may not have listened to it yet.”  
  
“I tried calling her last night,” Angel said. “Didn’t get an answer.”  
  
“Really?” Gunn looked surprised. “She had me on the phone yesterday for about an hour just to yell about the service at Pancake King. She sounded really mad. I figure it’s gotta be that time of the month.”  
  
“No, that was—” Angel stopped at all the disturbed looks. “—not something that I notice. Ever.”  
  
Spike snorted.  
  
“Yes, well, perhaps we should just start,” suggested Wesley. “Angel, since you called this meeting, maybe you can begin by telling us—”  
  
“Sorry I’m late,” said Fred, rushing in. She hurried to the last empty chair, the one at the foot of the table opposite Angel, and sat down between Gunn and Lorne. “Traffic was stupid. I hate cars. And, you know. Drivers.” She looked around the table. “And why is everyone staring at me?”  
  
“No reason,” said Angel.  
  
“Am I not allowed to be late sometimes? I’m a busy person and I do important things and it’s Saturday. I don’t stare at y’all when y’all are late to unscheduled emergency meetings on our day off.” She glared at them all.  
  
“It’s okay, Fred,” said Gunn.  
  
“I know it’s okay, Charles. That’s what I just said.” She crossed her thin arms over her chest and slumped back into the chair. “Now. What are we doing here?” Fred smelled slightly astringent, the way people always do when they’re angry. Angel looked away from her so that she wouldn’t notice his surprise at her attitude, but Spike continued to stare at her, concerned.  
  
“You alright, pet?” he asked her.  
  
“I’m _fine_ , Spike. God, I wish people would stop asking me what’s wrong today. Nothing is wrong! Except I’m at work on the weekend and no one has told me why yet. And I’m not your pet.”  
  
Wesley cleared his throat. “Well, we were just about to—”  
  
“Stop _looking_ at me! God!”  
  
Spike turned his bewildered look toward Angel, who was very carefully not looking directly at anyone. Wesley caught Gunn’s eye uncertainly, and Gunn gave a helpless shrug. Lorne said, “Look, kitten, if there’s something bothering you...”  
  
“Oh my _God_ ,” said Fred, throwing her hands up. “Didn’t I just say I’m fine? Leave me alone! Actually, you know what?” She stood up quickly, sending her chair rolling back a couple of feet. “ _I’ll_ leave. I don’t have to deal with vampires and freaking magic and demons on my day off. I didn’t sign up for this.”  
  
Wesley said gently, “Fred, we may need your help to—”  
  
“Is the world ending?”  
  
“Well, no, not as such, but—”  
  
“Then figure it out on your own.” She was already walking out. At the doorway, she shoved past the food delivery person, who had his hands full with three bags of Chinese food.  
  
“Okaaay,” said Gunn as they all stared after her. “What was that about?” The delivery guy, looking slightly miffed, put the food on the table and exited quietly.  
  
“Never seen her that cross before,” said Spike. He pulled one of the paper food bags toward him and rummaged through it. He took out the dumplings.  
  
“It’s okay,” said Angel. “We might not need her for this one anyway. I don’t think there’s anything... sciency... going on.”  
  
“So what _is_ our current crisis, corn muffin?” asked Lorne. “I know trouble’s coming when I see both of the dark avengers _and_ the brains of our operation all wearing their broody-pants.” He indicated Angel, Spike, and Wesley.  
  
“My pants are not broody, I assure you,” said Wesley at the same time that Angel said, “I thought _I_ was the brains of the operation.” They looked at each other.  
  
Spike was munching. Around a mouthful of food, he said, “Horny, not broody.” He pointed at Angel with his chopsticks. “His pants, anyway.”  
  
“Angel’s pants are what, now?” said Gunn, hesitating over the beef and broccoli he’d just pulled from a bag.  
  
“I’m not—” started Angel, but deciding the information might in fact be important to the case, he stopped. “I’m just... there’s a spell. I think.” He could still smell Spike, of course, which was not helping. “It’s making me...”  
  
“Horny,” said Spike again.  
  
“...act on impulses that I normally wouldn’t.”  
  
“Like biting someone,” said Wesley.  
  
Spike added, “And like—”  
  
“Oh, you’re one to talk!” Angel snapped at him.  
  
“You started it, mate.”  
  
“What? No I didn’t. You were in my room.”  
  
“ _I’m_ remembering a certain alley...”  
  
“Can you tell us if it’s a spell?” Wesley asked Lorne.  
  
“Worth a try,” Lorne replied. “Hey, Angelfood, why not give us a few bars of the latest song in your soul?”  
  
Angel grimaced. “Do I have to?”  
  
“Yeah, does he have to?” asked Gunn.  
  
“Perhaps something short,” suggested Wesley.  
  
Lorne settled back in his chair. “I’m all ears, mon capitan.”  
  
Angel thought for a moment. Feeling extremely uncomfortable and self-conscious, he eventually sang in a soft voice, “Clock strikes upon the hour, and the sun begins to fade. Still enough time to figure out how to chase my blues away. I’ve done alright up ‘til now – it’s the light of day that shows me how – but when the night falls... my loneliness calls.” He stopped and looked at Lorne.  
  
“Well, go on, you big lug,” said Lorne. “The chorus is the best part.”  
  
Angel sighed. “Ohhhh,” he sang reluctantly, “I wanna dance with somebody. I wanna feel the heat with somebody. Yeeeeah, I wanna dance with somebody. With somebody who... please God, tell me you’ve got enough.”  
  
“You were a hair sharp on the ‘oh,’ sweetie. You know, one or two lessons and we could have you doing weddings.”  
  
Gunn stared down at his food dejectedly. He said, “I can’t believe I just let an old white man ruin Whitney for me.”  
  
“Suck it up, Charlie,” said Spike. “It’s for the good of the world.”  
  
“Your sacrifice has been noted,” Wesley added. He looked at Lorne. “Were you able to divine anything about Angel’s situation?”  
  
“Only that last night was one hell of a good time. Why don’t my Fridays end that way? I’m always either alone or holding back Zora the squidbird’s tentacles while she pukes up $80 worth of tequila in my kitchen sink.”  
  
Gunn turned to Spike. “What happened last night?”  
  
“Tentacles,” said Lorne. “Tequila.”  
  
“I meant to Angel.”  
  
“I know what you meant, my naive young friend, but I advise no more questions unless you want your worldview forever changed.”  
  
“No questions,” Gunn quickly said. “Gotcha.”  
  
“You couldn’t tell if there are any mystical influences at work?” asked Wesley.  
  
“Actually, I could tell that there a _ren’t_. The only things currently influencing our fearless leader are one hundred percent organic.”  
  
“Meaning what, exactly?” Angel pressed.  
  
Lorne was digging his moo shu chicken out of one of the delivery bags. “Meaning hormones, cupcake. All-natural vampire go-juice. The stuff your kind produces normally every day, although I gotta say, you’re far exceeding the maximum recommended dosage.”  
  
“Hormones,” repeated Angel. It was what he’d originally suspected, but now that he’d bitten someone _and_ slept with Spike, he couldn’t really believe that was the extent of it.  
  
“Is that what’s making him stink up the place?” Spike sounded genuinely curious.  
  
“I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Angel, perturbed. He noticed Wesley leaning a little toward him with an interested expression. “I don’t stink!” he insisted.  
  
Gunn sniffed. “I don’t smell you,” he said. “Unless that’s you wearing the Aqua Velva.”  
  
It was at this moment that one of the Wolfram and Hart cafeteria staff entered the conference room. He was carrying a steaming pitcher of blood on a tray with two glasses.  
  
“Oi, over here,” said Spike, indicating the tabletop between himself and Angel. The delivery man moved between them to set the blood on the table. “You two better get your noses checked,” Spike continued. “Even a human could detect that scent. Miles away, probably.” He looked at Lorne. “Tell ‘em.”  
  
Lorne was watching the delivery guy. “That’s not exactly how it works, sugar,” he said. “Undead pheromones only work on the undead.”  
  
“Come on, I can’t be the only one who smells the poof. He reeks!” Spike turned to glare at Angel, but the delivery guy was still standing there between them. Not doing anything, just standing there, looking at Angel. His mouth was open just a little bit.  
  
Angel shrugged uncomfortably. This guy actually smelled kind of... nice. He looked at the man’s face and then away. Then he looked at the man again. Okay, he was attractive, too. In a kind of nerdy way. But so was everyone lately.  
  
Spike frowned. “Excuse us, we’re sort of busy here,” he announced. “Feel free to crash someone else’s emergency meeting.”  
  
“Looks like you’re right,” Wesley said to Spike. “You’re not the only one who can smell him.”  
  
“Hi,” the guy said softly.  
  
“Hi,” said Angel. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. The man – well, the _vampire_ – was leaning toward him slightly, smiling. He smelled young, maybe two or three years old. The scent of his sire, a female, was all over him. If Angel licked him, he’d probably taste her. He swallowed. “What’s your name?” Angel asked.  
  
“You’ve got to be bloody kidding me,” said Spike.  
  
“Mitch,” the vampire said. He maintained eye contact with Angel, his pupils wider than they should be. “I can’t believe we’ve never officially met before.”  
  
“I think I missed something,” said Gunn.  
  
“Thank you, Mitch,” Wesley said. “That will be all.”  
  
But the vampire didn’t leave. He inhaled slowly. “You remind me of something,” he said, staring into Angel’s eyes. It was like no one else in the room existed. “From when I was alive.”  
  
“Yeah?” said Angel, subtly turning his chair toward the man. His thighs fell open wide. He could smell Mitch very strongly, but he could also smell Spike.  
  
“My family used to go camping every year up in the Rockies,” said Mitch, almost as though he were hypnotized. “There was a hiking trail that led to the clearest, most beautiful waterfall you’ve ever seen in your life. The water was so...” He leaned closer to Angel, breathing. “...pure. That’s what you smell like.”  
  
“That’s enough!” Spike stood up quickly. “Listen, mate, you’ve got about three seconds before I—”  
  
“Thanks,” Angel said to Mitch quietly, like Spike hadn’t spoken or moved. “You know, I think our meeting’s over now if you want to—”  
  
Before Angel could finish this thought, Spike had slammed the other man down on his back over the table and was leaning over him, holding him by the throat and growling into his face. They were both showing their demons, but the fledge was no match for Spike’s strength.  
  
“ _Holy_ —” Gunn yelped, grabbing his food and jumping back as the pitcher of blood sloshed across his side of the table.  
  
Angel watched, aroused, as Spike stared down into Mitch’s golden eyes and growled very distinctly around his fangs, “ _He’s. Mine._ ”  
  
No one said anything for a long, tense moment while Mitch struggled against Spike’s grip, but eventually he stopped. His whole body went limp, and he turned his face to the side, pulling his fangs back in. Blood was dripping off the table onto the gray carpet.  
  
Once Mitch had submitted, Angel said, “Spike.” It took effort not to push out his fangs as well. “Let him go.”  
  
Spike looked up, still demon-faced, at the appalled expressions of Gunn, Lorne, and Wesley. “Oh,” he said, and cleared his throat. “Yeah.” He shook his head back into human guise and peeled his hand off of Mitch’s neck. “You can go, then,” he said to the cowed fledge.  
  
Mitch stood up, not meeting anyone’s eyes, and hurried over to the door. There he paused, casting a longing look back at Angel. Spike narrowed his eyes. The younger vampire walked away.  
  
Angel and Spike looked toward one another, inhaling and exhaling slowly, not exactly breathing but taking in the scent of each other, the excitement, the adrenaline. Angel felt a little lightheaded, and he could smell that Spike was as aroused as he was, although embarrassed of his outburst. The blond seemed to realize suddenly that he was still standing up, so he sat down in his chair and rolled it close to the table, avoiding the spilled blood. He looked at Wesley. “What?” he barked. He looked at Gunn and Lorne. “What?”  
  
“Is it hot in here, or is it just you two?” asked Lorne.  
  
“Worldview,” said Gunn, staring at Spike. “Forever changed.”  
  
“I didn’t— He was—” Spike started, looking confused. “Christ, I need a smoke.” He dug his cigarettes out of his duster pocket.  
  
“Not in here,” Angel said faintly. Off Spike’s tragic expression, he said, “Okay, fine. Give me one, too.”  
  
Their meeting lasted another twenty minutes or so, during which time Gunn called for a cleanup crew (being careful to specify no vampires) and Wesley made a note to send someone to inquire after Lana’s health, but no one had any good ideas about what was causing the imbalance in Angel’s body chemistry. They finally decided to research independently and meet again on Monday morning to discuss possibilities. “And in the meantime,” said Wesley, “I suggest we keep Angel separated from both humans _and_ vampires to avoid further unfortunate incidents.”  
  
“Too right,” said Spike decisively. “I’ll make sure no other vampires get near him.”  
  
“Er... you?” asked Wesley.  
  
“Well, yeah. Said I’d watch him for you, didn’t I?”  
  
“No, _you_ , pumpkin,” said Lorne. “You’re a vampire. Angel’s vibing at you like crazy, and forgive me for saying so, but you’re not exactly mounting a strong defense.” He turned to Gunn. “I probably shouldn’t have said mounting there, huh?”  
  
“Nothing you can say is worse than what I’ve already pictured,” said Gunn.  
  
“It’s okay,” Angel said. He cleared his throat. “I mean. Should be fine. We’re... Spike and I can... resist.”  
  
“Course we can,” said Spike. He gestured between himself and Angel. “There’s nothing here even remotely enticing, believe me.”  
  
“Which doesn’t explain last night,” said Lorne. “I read the whole thing in Angel’s heartbreaking solo, sweetcheeks. No point denying it.”  
  
“That was different,” said Angel. “We didn’t know what was happening.”  
  
“Now we know,” added Spike. “So it won’t happen again.”  
  
“And your little display with Mitch?” asked Wesley. “Angel is... yours?”  
  
Spike was a deer caught in headlights for a moment. He finally settled on, “Well I had to say something, didn’t I?”  
  
“Wouldn’t it just be easier to lock Angel back in the penthouse again?” suggested Gunn.  
  
Spike said, “And if something happens to him? Not that I care, but say he passes out or explodes or whatnot and no one’s there to see it? We haven’t got a clue what’s giving him the crazies, but it may well get worse before it gets better. Someone needs to keep an eye on him, yeah? One of you lot gonna volunteer for that? Keeping in mind he will probably eat you.”  
  
“I don’t know about _probably_...” said Angel.  
  
Gunn tilted his head. “The man makes a point.”  
  
“I could eat you,” Angel told Spike evenly.  
  
Spike smiled grimly but didn’t look at him. “Please try.”  
  
“I suppose Spike’s right,” Wesley said. “Perhaps it would be for the best to continue to supervise Angel rather than simply locking him away. Are we all agreed?” No one said anything. “Well, if no one objects, then I’m releasing Angel into your custody, Spike.” Wesley held up the key to Angel’s manacle and then placed it on the table in front of the blond.  
  
Spike picked up the key. Angel could smell his arousal like it was a solid thing.  
  
“Do be careful with him,” said Wesley wryly.  
  
*


	4. You've Had Worse Weekends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “S'what you need,” Spike breathed into his neck, nipping at him and kissing away the sting. “Yeah, a good hard fucking. Sort you right out.”

*

“So. You still saying no?”

Spike's voice was soft but intense, in the same way that brushing one fingertip gently across a bruise can make it ache. He was turning the manacle key over and over absentmindedly on the table, the scrape, scrape, scrape of it against the surface the only sound in the conference room. They were alone now, still sitting in their chairs, but the door stood open. Angel couldn't help looking at the doorway as though his friends might come back at any moment, seconds after they left, and announce an easy end to this struggle.

“Yes,” he answered just as quietly.

“Yes?”

“Yes, I'm saying no.”

Spike rolled his eyes and reached into his duster pocket for his squashed pack of cigarettes, leaving the key on the table. Angel watched his fingers as he pulled one from the pack and reached into his pocket again for the lighter. The butts of the cigarettes they'd already smoked lay abandoned in a puddle of ponzu sauce on Spike's dumpling take-out tray. When this new cigarette made it's way up to Spike's lips, Angel considered having another as well.

Spike lit it, took a long drag, and then blew out a cloud of smoke before saying, “And you plan to keep saying no until Monday morning.” He wasn't looking at Angel.

“You told Wesley yourself. Nothing remotely enticing between us.”

“Yeah, well. Doesn't mean I can't smell what you want.”

“You think I can't resist you for—” Angel looked at his watch “–forty hours?”

Spike's eyes cut toward him and quickly away again. He seemed mildly amused. “You think you can?”

Angel may not have been able to smell himself, the potent vampire pheromones he was apparently blasting in all directions, but he could smell the way Spike's body was responding to him, to his proximity, even though they were just sitting calmly and not touching. He could also still smell the adrenaline from Spike's confrontation with that young vampire earlier. Spike's arousal was pulsing out from him like the constant thump of the bass in La-la Land. Angel could imagine dancing to it. God, he needed... something. He reached over and plucked Spike's cigarette from those pink lips and put it to his own, sucking the hot smoke deeply. He watched Spike give in and watch his mouth.

“I think,” Angel said seriously, really trying to think, “I can control myself, at least until we figure out why this is happening. As long as I have a regular release.”

“A regular release,” Spike repeated.

“Yeah. You know.” Angel looked away and gestured vaguely with the cigarette. “If I... I mean, it's not a big deal. It's only when I haven't for a while that I get...” Twitchy. Horny. Hungry. None of those words seemed right. He gestured again and then took another drag from the cigarette. “Once every four or five hours, maybe.”

“So for the next forty hours, I'm s'posed to... what, watch you wank eight to ten times?”

“You've had worse weekends.”

Spike huffed a laugh, but then stopped as if he'd just remembered he didn't actually enjoy Angel's company. He reached out and took his cigarette back. Angel watched him place it between his lips. When did Spike's lips get so perfect, anyway? Could it have been last night? Last night, when they were wrapped so soft and wet around his cock... Angel's left hand under the table tried to move discreetly against his crotch, but the manacle stopped his movement short.

“Anyway, you don't have to,” he added. “Watch me, I mean. While I'm...” The thought of being watched, though, of _Spike_ watching him touch himself, Spike with the expression he'd had in the club while Angel and Lana danced and gyrated against each other in that sea of sweaty bodies... “You don't even have to be in the same room. In fact, you probably shouldn't be.”

Spike tapped his ash onto the dumpling tray. “Said I'd keep an eye on you,” he pointed out, as though watching Angel jerk off several times were a perfectly normal extension of that responsibility. He slid his free hand over his own crotch, those same jeans he was wearing in the alley when Angel came in his pants rubbing against him. “But there's no reason to rule out... alternative options.”

Angel narrowed his eyes. “You think we should fuck until Monday.” He'd already known it's what Spike wanted, but actually saying it out loud made his belly clench in a surprisingly agreeable way. He felt his legs fall open slightly, his chair swiveling – on its own, it seemed – another inch or so in Spike’s direction. Why did he have to smell so good? “Your plan is just, the two of us fucking. Over and over. Every three hours until Monday morning.” He tried to use a tone that would make this sound like a stupid idea but wasn't sure if it came across that way.

“Every _three_ hours now, is it?”

“Spike, we can’t just—” he shook his head. The fog had been slowly building up again in his mind, making it difficult to concentrate. He knew somewhere inside – he was positive he _knew_ – that this was a bad idea, that Spike didn't even like him, that once this was over they'd regret letting anything happen between them. Anything _more_ , anyway. But remembering exactly why they'd regret it later if they both wanted it right now was hard.

Really, really hard.

It was really, very… very hard...

His skin was starting to feel too tight, the smell of Spike’s interest in him seeping throughout his whole brain like smoke as he imagined spending the rest of the day and night, and then the next day and night, naked with that lean body in his bed, firm and soft in all the right places, grinding against each other, coming together, over and over and over again. “We can’t just do the easy thing because it’s the easy thing to do,” he heard himself saying.

Spike tilted his head. “You've had worse weekends.”

Angel huffed softly and reached up to rub over his face.

“Anyway, bit rich saying _I'm_ easy,” Spike went on. “You nearly shagged some rando over this very table just for calling you a bloody waterfall. You know, a lesser man would be offended.” His hand was still in his lap, fingers curved over the defined bulge in his jeans while he smoked.

Angel found it difficult to look away from those fingers. “I'm the one this is happening to, Spike, not you. You can’t count on me to be the one who resists temptation. That’s not…” He watched Spike’s chest expand as he took another pull from the cigarette, held it a moment, and then exhaled the smoke slowly in Angel’s direction, head still tilted. “That’s not fair,” Angel finished quietly.

“Was just offering to help you, is all. Again. Still in my half of the city.” Spike stubbed out the cigarette on a dumpling crumb. Then he picked up Angel’s manacle key and stood, the chair rolling back a few inches.

“Wait, your half can't _als_ _o_ include Wolfram and—”

Angel shut up as Spike leaned over him to reach for the cuff. This put his neck abruptly quite close to Angel’s face. His neck, which Angel’d had his cheek pressed to for most of the night and still smelled of him, and smelled of the lust in Spike’s blood that was so close to the surface here. Spike’s hand caught his left wrist to undo the manacle, and without thinking or even being aware of it, Angel found his right hand on Spike’s shoulder, on the soft leather of his duster, and felt himself inhaling deeply near Spike’s neck, eyes falling closed.

When the cuff released, Spike didn’t drop his wrist or move away, and when Angel opened his eyes again, Spike’s face was turned toward him, so very close, his pupils dilated. This close, the smell of both vampires was thick, practically a solid thing forming between them.

Angel swallowed. “Spike, I think I...” he whispered, suddenly too desperate to be embarrassed, but not sure what to say. His fingers flexed against Spike's shoulder. His whole body felt hollow and sensitive, like a lit Molotov cocktail, ready to burst. “I think I need to... now.”

Spike straightened up, pulling away from Angel, and nodded. But after he dropped the key back onto the table, he hesitated and reached over to put his hand unexpectedly to Angel's cheek, fingers cool on his skin. Angel leaned automatically into the touch, as if his head might roll right off if Spike's hand hadn't been there to catch it. “What do you want me to do?” Spike asked him, his voice low, serious. “Shall I leave you alone, or... Angel?” His other hand settled on Angel's other cheek. “Angel, look at me.”

“Why did you have to touch me?” Angel muttered, eyes closed tight again. “I was doing okay until...”

“Yeah, serve you right if I left you chained here all day. Was just gonna take you back up to the... uh...”

Angel could feel Spike looking down, watching his hands in his own lap, squeezing his erection through his black pants. He couldn't stop himself. Just squeezing, not rubbing, didn't want to come fully clothed again, not here at the office for God's sake, no matter that it wasn't a busy day, but the door was still open and literally anyone could just walk in and see him like this, and Spike was... Spike was standing there watching him, so close, touching him, holding his face while he... and his rings were cold on Angel's skin...

“Angel. Can you make it to the lift? Christ, you smell so... Angel?” Spike removed one of his hands from Angel's face and smacked his cheek lightly a couple of times, just to get his attention. “Hey?”

The contact sent a tiny shudder through Angel's body. This was how he felt in the alley behind La-la Land. Like he wasn't fully in control anymore. Only this time, it hadn't taken nearly as long to build up, and he'd barely even been touched by anyone. Just Spike. He breathed in a slow, calming breath, but the air was full of Spike's scent, and it made him lightheaded. “Yeah,” he managed. “I just... need a second...”

“Here, come on.” Spike began to pull Angel up from the chair, and he went willingly, not knowing what else to do. “Let's get you back to—”

But as soon as Angel was on his feet, his mouth met Spike's mouth.

He didn't mean to kiss him. He didn't remember making the decision to do it, or leaning in, or sliding his hands around Spike's body under his leather jacket and pulling him close. All he knew was that the smell of Spike wearing his t-shirt made his cock even harder than before, and Spike's mouth tasted like cigarettes, ponzu sauce, and something dark and heavy, and Angel wanted so very badly to be inside him, or at least feel their naked skin pressed together the way it had been that morning, when they'd known even less about what was happening.

The kiss didn't even seem to surprise Spike at all, as if it were simply the next word of the sentence he'd been saying. His hands ran firmly along Angel's sides, then slid down further to pull Angel's hips forward hard as he sucked Angel's bottom lip into his wet mouth. Their bodies pushed together, and this, yeah, this was what Angel needed. He reached up with one hand to grab the back of Spike's neck and hold his head still for the force of their kiss, fingertips pushing up through Spike's hair, and his other hand landed on Spike's jean-covered ass to pull him forward even harder, finding a good position to grind their erections together.

Spike would have lost his balance if the table hadn't been right there beside them. Angel pushed him against it, the hard edge hitting Spike's hip at an angle. They managed to turn without their mouths separating, still sucking at each other's lips as Angel shoved Spike's ass up onto the table. Spike's knees parted naturally for him to fit between, but Angel grabbed his thigh anyway and hitched it up beside his hip, unwilling to let the blond slide back too far and take away the perfect friction he was getting against his cock.

Spike worked one hand down between them so that he could rub Angel's erection through his pants. “So how do you,” he breathed between urgent sucking kisses, “wanna do this, then?”

Angel gasped against Spike's lips when he felt the strong hand grasping his stiff penis through the material. “I don't care,” he said. “Anything, anything, just – uhn... don't stop...” A wisp of a thought darted out of the fog that was Angel's brain, something along the lines of, _I_ _want his mouth again_ , followed closely by _Did someone just come in?_ but the latter thought fizzled out to the feel of that firm grip rubbing continuously and the cloth pulling back and forth across the sensitive head of his erection. He dove back into Spike's mouth, kissing him passionately, almost hard enough to bruise. Closer, he needed to get closer.

The hand that wasn't working Angel's cock grabbed a handful of his ass and squeezed. An electric tingle buzzed its way down Angel's spine. “Let me fuck you,” Spike managed between kisses. He raked his teeth across Angel's bottom lip. Angel shivered, either from the suggestion or the sensation, and Spike moved to kiss his cheek, then his jaw, and then sucked a searing kiss against that smooth bit of skin on Angel's neck, just under his ear. Angel sighed heavily, tilting his head to give Spike room to scrape him with his blunt teeth again. “S'what you need,” Spike breathed into his neck, nipping at him and kissing away the sting. “Yeah, a good hard fucking. Sort you right out.”

Angel could imagine himself melting entirely into the smell of Spike's skin, the mouth at his neck, those hands gripping him, working him into a delirious state. But why could he smell food suddenly? And something chemical. And lemons? “You think that's what I need?” Angel asked, his voice scarcely there at all, breathing ragged. God, those hands.

“So bad,” whispered Spike, “you need it so b—”

“Excuse me, Mr. Angel?” A friendly male voice.

Angel could feel Spike go still under his hands. “We're busy,” Spike grunted without taking his mouth from Angel's neck. Angel opened his eyes. He didn't see anyone.

“Sir, if I could just get you to move your foot for one second,” the voice went on. Who the hell? Also, _where_ the– Something tapped Angel's right foot. He automatically picked his foot up off the carpet but didn't know where to set it down again.

Spike lifted his face from Angel. “Go _away_ ,” he demanded irritably, frowning when he also didn't see anyone there.

“Sorry, I'll be out of your hair in just a moment,” the voice said cheerfully. The words were accompanied by more of that lemon chemical smell. It sort of stung Angel's eyes and he blinked a few times. The sharp scent made the fog in his head recede a little – but only a little. Enough for him to let go of Spike's thigh and look down. There was a man on his hands and knees under the table, spreading some kind of cleaning powder on the giant dark spot where Spike had knocked over the pitcher of blood. The rest of the spill had already been cleaned, but he was treating the stain on the carpet. Angel's foot hovered just over the edge of the spot.

“These blood stains are a real stinker to get out,” the man said pleasantly as he worked. “There we go, gotta let that sit for a while. Sorry sir, you can put your foot down now.” He crawled backwards away from the table and stood up beside Angel, dusting off his hands. “This one should clean up fine,” he said, smiling at them. “As long as it doesn't come back. The ones in the basement keep coming back.”

Angel stared at the man. He was shortish, plumpish, maybe fiftyish years old. Human. He wore the uniform of the Wolfram and Hart janitorial staff, and his neck was slightly damp with sweat from working. Aside from the scent of a few different industrial cleaning products, Angel could smell that the man was in reasonably good health and had a cat at home. His skin would be salty, his blood a little bit sweet. Warm.

Like the previous night, Angel heard the crunch of his features changing before he felt the change itself. As though it were happening far away, to some other vampire, one he barely knew. But then somehow the man's sweaty neck was in his hand. The man was choking, struggling to breathe. Huh. That didn't sound good. Well, if he were going to die anyway, no use _not_ having a taste...

“Bloody h– Angel, stop!” Spike's voice, yelling at him. Why? He sounded worried. “Angel, drop him! Now!”

“Don't worry,” Angel heard himself saying. “It's okay.” Spike was shaking him by the shoulders. The man's face was starting to turn purple.

And then Spike's fist smashed squarely into the center of Angel's bumpy forehead, hard, and Angel's head snapped back, and he was stumbling backward. A weight fell from his hand to hit the floor with a thud. Someone gasping for air. Angel put a hand up to his forehead. It throbbed.

Spike slid off the table onto his feet. “Angel, what the fuck?” he demanded. He punched him in the face again, this time near his mouth, and one of Angel's fangs went through his bottom lip. He could taste blood.

“I wasn't,” Angel said, stumbling back again, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth, “I wasn't gonna _eat_ him...” He looked at his hand. A smear of red. This was like last night, too. His hurt lip also throbbed, but it actually wasn't that bad. Gave him something to focus on.

“You were _absolutely_ gonna eat him! You think I don't know that look? Fucking rein it in!” Spike swung at him again, but Angel caught his fist and punched Spike in the nose instead, making him stagger back.

“Stop hitting me! I wouldn't have... I mean, I don't think I...” Angel shook his head and blinked a few times, trying to think. _Had_ he been about to eat the janitor? He looked over at the man on the floor, who was still panting, struggling to get to his feet. Well... maybe? But strictly by accident! Anyway, even Spike could admit the man would have made a decent—

Spike kicked Angel in the chest, which slammed him backward into the wall of the conference room. To the human, he said, “And why are you still here? Can't you see I'm saving your bloody life? That's your cue to run. Idiot.”

Angel picked himself up off the floor, the back of his head now also smarting from hitting the wall. He saw the man stumbling out and Spike coming toward him again. He put up his hands placatingly. “Okay, okay,” he said quickly. “I'm fine. I can see how that would be... but he's gone now. I didn't even—”

Spike grabbed Angel's wrists and shoved him against the wall, pinning his hands there on either side of his head. Angel didn't fight back. His mind was still racing. Spike was glaring at him, but his eyes looked more intense than his normal glare, and it took a moment for Angel to register through his confused brain that it was because there was less blue than usual. Spike's pupils were big and round and black, and even with Angel pinned to the wall, Spike still somehow came toward him, until they were pressed together from the chest down and Spike's nose was buried in Angel's neck. He inhaled deeply.

Angel closed his eyes and tilted his head down to breathe in near Spike's neck as well. He felt so... It was weird, like there was something inside him that needed to come out, that his skin could just barely contain. His whole body felt heavy and light at the same time, tense and sensitive. His demon was still out, sharp teeth close to Spike's smooth white neck. He could feel his mouth come open, ever so slowly, as if someone else were controlling it. If he just... moved... a little closer...

Then Spike was kissing his neck again, like he'd never not been kissing him, and a quiet, desperate sound fell from Angel’s lips. Spike kissed over to his mouth and took those lips fiercely, sucking the split one and worrying his teeth across it, seeking the faint aftertaste of that drop of blood. The fangs didn't bother him. Angel felt his rigid erection pulse as he and Spike ravaged each other’s lips, hard teeth raking against soft wet flesh. It was a painful kiss, but right now his mind was translating pain as a different sensation, and every sensation was overwhelming. He needed... he needed...

Suddenly Spike mumbled into their kiss, “I'm doin' this... for your own good, Angel,” and released Angel’s wrists, dropping swiftly to his knees on the floor. He made a grab for the front of Angel's pants and had them open before Angel's fogged over brain could fully register what was happening.

Then the head of his swollen cock was inside Spike's cool mouth, and Spike was sucking on it, hard.

Angel nearly collapsed with the sudden intense pleasure of it. His hands came down to land on either side of Spike's head and hold him there, fingers pushing into the soft platinum hair. “Ahh!” he gasped, and knocked his head back against the wall again. “Oh, _shit_ …”

“Mmph,” Spike agreed. One hand grasped Angel’s body, fingertips digging into his thigh, firm under the open black trousers which were now barely hanging onto his hips. His other hand was fisted around Angel’s stiff dick, holding it tight, as though it might try to get away. His thumb rubbed up and down the shaft as he began to lap at the wet tip, smearing a slippery path of saliva across taut skin. Every time his tongue swiped under the plump head, Angel’s leg muscles trembled. Then Spike closed his lips around it and sucked again.

Head and shoulders to the wall, practically vibrating with the intensity of this spontaneous suckjob, Angel could feel himself breathing - fast, deep gulps of air he didn't need but couldn't get enough of. He didn't remember shutting his eyes, but when he opened them, the harsh fluorescent lights of the conference room seemed surreal. You didn't just get your dick sucked in such a bright room, standing next to ergonomically shaped office chairs, the astringent scent of lemon stain cleaner pricking at your nostrils.

And the door wide open.

It was a heady rush, suddenly shedding the proprieties of the office. It felt reckless and freeing to bring the things he'd normally do in the dark out here into the bright light of midday for anyone to see.

In the lobby, two figures started drifting slowly toward the doorway. A man and a woman. Angel watched them coming closer, their looks of interest as they took in what was happening: the CEO with his fangs out getting head from an employee, zero regard for privacy. One of the figures was the young vampire from earlier. What was his name? Something with an M?

Spike's hair in Angel's hands was soft and thick. He carded his fingers through it over and over, stroking and petting the blond locks as Spike's wet mouth bobbed on his cock. Angel couldn't stop breathing, lips parted, teeth bared as his chest rose and fell. The young vampire – Mitch, was it? – stared hungrily at him, and Angel leaned his head against the wall and stared straight back at him through the doorway with golden eyes, no attempt to pull away or hide what was happening. His hips moved back and then forward again toward Spike’s mouth. His skin felt like it was singing. His whole body felt warm and alive. He held Spike's head and thrust again.

As he watched, Mitch snarled softly and pushed out his fangs as well, followed closely by the woman doing the same. Angel looked over at her face, at her amber eyes locked on his body. She was breathing too, inhaling his scent even from this far away. She wanted him. He let himself imagine what this was doing to her, that watching him fuck Spike's mouth made her slick for him under that sensible knee-length skirt, that she would let him pull that skirt up and just push his cock right into her, bend her lithe body forward over the conference table and take her roughly from behind, the single manacle swinging back and forth by its chain underneath as he thrust into her, rocking the table.

He groaned quietly as Spike's fist pumped up and down his sensitive flesh, the perfect O of his shiny lips meeting his hand again and again just under the leaking head. The scent of Spike's arousal – not just the lust itself but the actual physical scent of his body responding to Angel, being turned on by him – was beginning to overwhelm Angel's senses, blotting out even the chemical smell of the stain cleaner. In his fantasy, the slick tightness he was fucking over the table wavered and became tighter, the soft thighs more lean and hard. “Spike,” Angel breathed, his fingers curling into the short blond hair. “That's... uhhn...”

The firm strokes of Spike’s hand quickened as his lips backed off Angel's cock, a thin strand of saliva clinging to the tip. “Gonna come for me, Angel?” he asked huskily before sucking the dusky pink knob back into his soft mouth – and it was his voice that did it, really, his voice that triggered something deep in Angel's balls that had been just on the verge of gushing forth.

Angel swore and pulled Spike's head right down, forcing more of his shaft past those perfect lips as he shuddered and began to unload, his entire body trembling with the effort. Spike’s throat convulsed around his spurting cock, and Angel couldn’t tell if the blond was choking or just swallowing, but the feel of being squeezed tightly as he came made him gasp and curse more, dragging himself out and thrusting back in again. His raw cockhead rubbing against the soft wet walls of Spike’s throat prolonged his climax, the tension flooding out of his body and into Spike’s mouth in several long, gooey jets.

It was his most powerful release since this whole thing started.

Then, as usual, the wash of relief immediately following his orgasm began to clear away the thick clouds clogging up his senses. It was like the first breath of clean air after being smothered for hours under everyone else’s laundry. And that pungent lemon cleaner smell seemed to chase away the fog even faster than it had dissipated before.

Angel breathed in raggedly as he let his hands fall away from Spike’s head. He swallowed and, suddenly realizing his other face was still showing, pulled it back inside. His bottom lip throbbed. The two other vampires near the door continued to watch him, their arousal not yet sated, but he looked elsewhere as he breathed, unsure what to say. Was it appropriate to say anything?

Slowly, Spike was pulling himself back from Angel’s spent penis, mouth still closed around him, sucking very lightly until his lips came off the end with a quiet pop, leaving the wet flesh exposed to the office air – still swollen but not anything near as urgently as before. Angel shivered. He could hear Spike swallow once more. Jesus Christ. He’d really just had a blowjob in full view of two employees. From _Spike_.

“Better?” Spike asked him. His voice was a tad hoarse, but it was actually kind of sexy, the little shit.

“Yeah,” said Angel, looking down. Spike was tucking Angel’s dick back into his pants. This time yesterday, those hands handling him would have been an impossible sight to imagine. “Thanks?”

Spike snorted. “Saving a life by sucking a cock.” He stood up without buttoning or zipping Angel’s pants, so Angel reached down to do it himself while Spike watched. “LA is weird.”

“I wouldn’t really have killed him. I don’t think.”

“This the part where you tell me it's normal to strangle the help?” When Spike looked up at Angel’s face, his pupils were still blown startlingly wide.

Angel hesitated over a sarcastic reply and said instead, “Are you okay?”

Spike’s lips were a darker pink than usual, a little puffy from friction. His tongue darted across them, lingering at the corner for a moment. Then he shrugged and nodded once.

“It um. It wears off for me,” Angel said. “Right after. Like, back to normal. For a while.” He had the impulse to say something else and would have if they'd been alone, somewhere private. But they weren't.

Spike’s brow furrowed. But he said, “Yeah, ‘course. Same. Don't actually want you, you know, just trying to help. It's like I said.” He gestured in Angel’s direction. “Not enticing at all. Off-putting, if we're being perfectly honest. What's the opposite of sexually attractive? Some people might even say repuls—”

“Okay, I think you’ve made your point.”

Spike's head dipped in another little nod. But then he added more quietly, “You still taste like—”

“Are you finished with him?” the female vampire interrupted. Angel looked over toward her in the doorway. Mitch was still standing there too, expression hopeful. They hadn’t quite come inside the room, but they were lurking a lot closer than they’d been before.

Spike turned quickly and seemed to notice for the first time that they had an audience. His mouth opened, but then he shut it and settled on glaring at Mitch.

When he didn’t seem forthcoming with a reply, Angel said, “Yeah, he’s… we’re finished. You can go back to your—”

“’Course I’m finished with him,” Spike said, as though Angel hadn’t spoken. “Nothing to see here. We’re not…” He glanced at Angel, then back at the two vampires in the doorway. “What’s it to you, anyway?” He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

The woman smiled a little, fangs showing. Hers were slightly longer than Angel’s, the points grazing her red bottom lip when her mouth was open. She was looking at him, not at Spike, as she stepped forward in her peach-colored high heeled sandals. Small feet, red painted toenails. Long dark hair. He could tell immediately that she was much older than Mitch, only a couple of decades younger than Spike. Her demon face was pretty, elegant in the same way that Drusilla’s was, but without the crazy in her eyes. He tried to remember if he'd met her before.

She paused inside the conference room but still several feet away, and without taking her eyes off Angel, she said to Spike, “I was hoping you’d share.” Angel could smell how turned on she was, could see the enlarged pupils in her golden eyes.

Strange... even though he didn’t feel on the edge of losing control anymore, Angel didn’t immediately dismiss whatever possibility this vampire was offering. He knew that normally he would have, not just because she was soulless but also because she worked for him and that was inappropriate. The fact that he was interested now when as recently as yesterday he wouldn't have been was both confusing and disturbing. He genuinely couldn’t tell if he felt this way because of what was happening to him or because somehow he’d changed.

But before he could say anything, Spike said, “No.”

Angel spared a brief glance his way, then said quietly, as much for Spike’s benefit as the woman’s, “He doesn’t speak for me.”

Spike gave him an incredulous look. “Yes, he bloody well does!” He stepped in front of Angel, between him and the woman, and turned to glare at her. “No,” he repeated.

“We could take turns,” Mitch suggested from the doorway. He hadn’t come inside.

Spike and the woman frowned at him, but Angel tilted his head thoughtfully. “ _No_ ,” said Spike again, the emphasis clearly directed toward Angel. Then he pointed at Mitch. “And if you bring that bloody Poundland Buddy Holly impersonation into this room again, you’ll be taking it back out through the sodding window, mate.”

Mitch turned away sullenly, but not before muttering something that had the phrase “discount dye job” in it.

Spike’s jaw tensed, and he looked as if he might march right after the young vampire and throw him through the window anyway (or any suitably painful surface), but Angel put a hand on his shoulder. “Spike,” he said.

“We're going,” Spike replied tersely. He grabbed Angel's wrist and took a step, but was stopped short when Angel didn't move with him. Spike turned his severely agitated glare on Angel and jerked his head toward the door, giving Angel's arm a sharp tug for good measure.

Angel looked over at the woman, fairly confident that his expression gave nothing away. “What's your name?” he asked her.

“Josephine.” The look she was giving him was still intense as she pulled her fangs back in, amber eyes transforming to a glittering green. She was still elegant in her human face. He could easily picture her in the type of hat and gloves popular during her time, carrying a parasol. Something about her seemed so familiar, but he didn't recognize her face.

Through gritted teeth, Spike started, “Angel, if you think I won't drag you upstairs by the gel in your fucking hairdo—”

“...of Aurelius,” added Josephine, a seductive smile playing at the corners of her lips.

Spike shut his mouth. He turned slowly to stare at her in the same manner that Angel was staring, not giving away anything by his look.

Family?

There was a long, tense moment between the three of them as they each silently scented the air. It was hard for Angel to get a firm read of anything over the strong smell of arousal from both Spike and Josephine and the background noise of the carpet cleaner on the floor. Likewise, the two of them were probably both struggling to smell anything over _him_. And she wasn't bleeding at all. The lack of a fresh blood scent made it even more difficult to place her within their family line. But Angel was getting that tiny prickling extra-sense feeling that he always did when his family was nearby; he'd thought it was just because of Spike, but it was stronger now than usual.

Spike was the first one to snap out of it. He tore his eyes from Josephine and said to Angel, “Be that as it bloody may, we still need to go.” His hand was gripping Angel's wrist, hard.

“Spike, I'm fine.” Angel kept looking at Josephine, trying to do the math. Could she be The Master's? Maybe Absalom's?

“Right, you're fine _now._ After I molested some sanity back into that inflated forehead. But what about an hour from now? What about when you try to bite and screw the next living – or unliving – thing that takes a sniff in your direction?”

Maintaining eye contact with Angel, Josephine replied, “I promise I'll buy him dinner after.” Angel had the brief mental image of sharing a meal with her. A warm neck.

Spike ignored her comment but narrowed his eyes at Angel. In a low voice, he asked grimly, “What if it's a dog?”

Angel finally broke the eye contact so he could scowl in Spike's direction. “I'm _not_ gonna screw a – we don't even have any dogs at the office, Spike. Stop being gross.” Regardless, the idea did at least make him think twice about remaining downstairs. The incident with the janitor could have been a lot worse, and there was no telling when it might happen again. As curious as he was about the sudden appearance of a relative, he figured Spike was probably right. It would be better to wait until this whole weird hormone thing was over before he tackled some new issue. One thing at a time.

To Josephine (Luke's? There's no way she was Darla's... right?) Angel said, “Raincheck on dinner. You caught me at a bad time.” He yanked his arm out of Spike's grip and started walking toward the door. Spike rolled his eyes but followed.

As they passed her, Angel heard the woman murmur, “Looked like a good time to me.”

*

Despite Spike's clear reluctance to go anywhere except directly back up to the penthouse, Angel insisted that they stop by Wesley's department for a book. It was one of the blank ones that made research simpler by functioning as a search engine for the other books in their considerable library. Under normal circumstances, Angel would have been doing as much independent research on the current crisis as his friends did, and he didn't see why that should change just because the current crisis was his own embarrassingly persistent sexual impulses and lack of self control.

Plus he was pretty sure none of them would cross-reference their research with the subject of dogs or other animals, and thanks to Spike's disgusting suggestion, this had become a point of minor (but still legitimate) concern.

Wesley wasn't there, but Angel could smell that he'd walked through earlier. That stale scent of depression threaded itself through the air in wispy ribbons, outlining a path through the department to Wesley's personal office and then back out again. His smell was almost distinct enough to physically see a trail wafting between molecules, like particles of dust suspended in a beam of sunlight.

Angel briefly considered asking Spike what he thought of Wesley's condition, whether it seemed odd or just par for the course considering the unique circumstances of their lives, but when he started to say something as they finally stepped into the elevator, Spike's expression gave him pause. The blond was staring forward – didn't appear to be looking at anything specific, just staring straight ahead of himself with his lips pressed together in a firm line, a tiny wrinkle of concentration between his eyebrows. His pupils were still dilated, and he was breathing in and out silently, a little faster than normal. His shoulders were tensed under his duster, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He looked remarkably irritable, like any stray comment might earn someone a very fast right hook. He stood perfectly still as the elevator doors closed, not looking at Angel. Within seconds, the scent of frustrated arousal had swelled to fill the tiny space all around them both.

Angel was observing him out of the corner of his eye but said nothing.

Since their encounter in bed last night, Angel had jerked off in the shower and received a second blowjob from Spike, but Spike hadn't had another release at all, and he'd been stuck within intoxicating proximity of Angel's accidental pheromones all day. He smelled... well, he smelled a lot more desirable than Angel would have ever given him credit for before this week, and it wasn't just because he was wearing Angel's shirt. The combination of Spike's increased level of arousal around Angel due to his bizarre situation and Angel's increased sensitivity to body smells made the blond's current scent dangerously appealing. But he also radiated a sense of unresolved tension – whatever the vampire equivalent was of blue balls. It probably wasn't good for him to remain on edge like that.

Like it had after the first time Spike sucked him off, it crossed Angel's mind again to offer something in return. Some form of release. After all, Spike had blown him twice by this point _and_ lain still to be dry humped in an alley, and all Angel had done was kiss him and refuse to have sex. Plus force him to save two humans.

It wasn't fair, and he knew it wasn't fair, and the fact that he could easily imagine himself pushing Spike against the elevator wall and shoving a hand down his pants had absolutely _noth…_ absolutely _very little_ to do with how delicious he smelled right now and only meant Angel wanted to do the right thing. As a... as a hero. Besides, if Spike could give out heroic orgasms, he could too, right?

It had been a very long time since he’d used his mouth on another man. For pleasure.

Spike seemed pretty good at it.

Angel’s fingers tightened around the hard spine of the book he was holding. He looked at Spike’s tense shoulders and then away again. God, he smelled good. Why were elevators so small anyway? And exactly how often was Spike heroically giving people blowjobs at work while Angel and the rest of the team were out risking their lives slaying modusbeasts?

“Do you…” Angel started to ask, and Spike turned his face toward him, those eyes dark and restless. Angel cleared his throat. “Never mind,” he said.

Spike faced the elevator doors again. He muttered, “Slowest bloody lift in creation.”

Angel considered. “At least I’m not handcuffed this time.”

“Attempt one more murder and we'll be revisiting that.”

“Maybe just concentrate on not locking us in again.”

“Maybe subscribe to a better cable package and the first time wouldn’t have been so shit.”

“You’re saying you wanted to be there?”

“I’m saying you’re cheap and boring, but take it how you like.”

Angel bit the inside of his cheek. After a moment, he said quietly, “You sure found a way to amuse yourself, though.”

The grim set of Spike’s mouth immediately dropped open in protest. “You – I – you seduced me!”

“In my sleep?” Angel's eyebrow twitched up. Getting a rise out of Spike was too easy.

“You _seduced_ me with your stupid poofy hair and sexy dance, and your big dumb innocent eyes! _And_ your shoulders. Not my fault you had to go and smell like a bloody virgin slayer on top of that. What was I supposed to do, _not_ touch you? And all this _after_ you had your evil way with me outside that club, don’t forget.”

“Spike, I told you. I'm not ev—”

“And _n_ _ow_ you expect me to smell you all weekend and look at your sodding thoughtful eyebrows and act like I’m not bothered? Well, you can fuck right off a cliff with that moral high ground bollocks!” He stabbed an accusing finger at Angel’s chest. “Make no mistake Angel, I’ll be up here wanking _just_ as much as you.” This last bit was probably meant to come across as some kind of smug victory, but the effect was ruined by Spike’s confused expression as soon as the words left his mouth. Like he wasn’t sure if admitting his plan to masturbate several times in Angel’s apartment meant he’d won the conversation or not.

Angel was looking at Spike’s lips. Quietly, distracted, he asked, “Do you give a lot of blowjobs, Spike?”

A sound of shocked outrage. “Do I – fucking what?!”

The elevator pinged cheerfully and opened into Angel’s penthouse.

“I’m just saying, you didn’t really seem to mind. No hesitation. And it was pretty good, both times, so I’m just wondering how often you actually—”

“Unbelievable!” Spike stomped out of the elevator. Angel followed more slowly, watching Spike march all the way across the room from him before turning back in a swish of black leather. “It’s not bloody rocket science, you know! It’s not a matter of – of _practicing_. It’s a cock. You just suck it. That’s all!”

He continued out and disappeared into the next room, conversation apparently over. But before Angel moved, Spike stomped back in. “And the reason I didn’t mind is 'cause this sodding spell – or your, whatever the fuck, voodoo hormones – makes you taste _disgustingly_ appetizing right now. There’s no more to it than that!”

He stomped out again, but the footsteps didn’t go very far. Angel could hear that Spike had paused just on the other side of the wall. After a moment, the voice that spoke again from there was slightly less aggressive. “Unless you’re asking ‘cause you want to do some practicing yourself and need a volunteer.” He didn’t come back in, but he didn’t walk away either, just standing there with the wall between them, listening for an answer.

Angel flexed his fingers, squeezing the heavy book with both hands. He wasn't sure he liked being read so well. Carefully, he said, “I’m not… completely… ruling it out.”

A few seconds went by in total silence, both vampires standing perfectly still in separate rooms, the distance and wall between them not actually doing very much to lessen the scents still wafting from their skin. Then Spike appeared in the doorway again very slowly. He hooked his thumbs in his jean pockets and leaned his shoulder against the door jamb, tilting his head at Angel. His expression looked much more relaxed than it had before, no longer irritable, and Angel couldn't tell if the relaxed look was an act or if the frustrated look had been, or if Spike's face was simply a genuine reflection of a series of rapidly changing moods. At any rate, the hint of a smirk he wore now would have seemed normal if not for the dilated pupils.

Spike let his gaze travel down Angel's body and then back up to Angel's face, leaving the barest sensation of a trail marked across Angel's skin like the drag of ghostly fingertips. Quietly, he asked, “So what now?”

Angel imagined crossing the room, yanking down Spike's jeans, and swallowing his cock to the root. He glanced down at the book in his hands, then back to Spike. “Research first,” he said. “While I can still think clearly.”

A nod. “And then?”

“And then...” Angel breathed in deeply, let it out slow. Even if he hadn't been able to smell him, it occurred to Angel that he might possibly have been slightly attracted to Spike just now anyway, leaning confidently against the doorway and giving him a suggestive once-over with dark eyes. “And then we'll see,” he said.

*


	5. Voodoo Hormones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We both know you need to. Better do it now before you get all fangy again.”

*

There wasn’t much information available about vampire hormones. This came as no surprise to Angel.

He did manage to locate a study on vampiric sex drives which had been attempted by a small group from the Watchers Council in the early 1980s, but after outlining exactly what the research would entail and how samples of vampire semen would be extracted for study (manually for the most part, although there was brief mention of constructing a machine for the purpose), the notes ended abruptly. A footnote had been added later. It said the three researchers conducting the study had all been turned by their vampire subject.

Angel rolled his eyes. Kidnap a vampire, chain him to a bed, and take turns jerking him off: another brilliant idea from the council. No wonder the researchers had been sired instead of killed; they’d spent considerable resources just to engage in some foreplay. The vampire had probably made them into his favored pets.

Hell, he probably made them build the machine, too.

Reading about the study turned Angel on. Not just picturing what the watchers had done to their vampire captive, but also imagining the moment when the vampire turned the tables and sucked them dry. Did he do them all at once, one big fight, a single naked vampire taking on three humans? Or did he wait, do them secretly one at a time as they each approached him alone, reaching out to touch his body with their hot human hands?

That’s how Angel would have done it. Taken them each privately, not let the others know what he’d done until after. He would have let them touch him first, waited as they squeezed and rubbed his erection until he came, then bit hard into their necks just as the first spasm began, the spurt of hot blood into his mouth mirroring his cool release against their skin. Then he’d have broken the chains, completed the turning, and pretended to be bound again when the next human arrived to give him pleasure.

He exhaled slowly and rubbed a hand over his face. It was already hard to concentrate on research when the research turned him on, but what made it even more difficult was Spike, just the fact of him existing inside the same apartment, even in another room. Over the sounds of some generic action movie (lots of gunfire and explosions), Angel could hear the blond sprawled on the couch tossing something back and forth restlessly from one hand to the other. His lighter, probably. Angel could hear the quiet _t_ _ink_ each time the metal struck one of Spike’s silver rings. He felt the strong temptation to go in there and snatch the lighter out of the air between Spike’s hands. Without the lighter, maybe those hands would busy themselves playing with something else.

But what Angel truly wanted was to leave the building entirely. Go for a walk, somewhere alone, free of the smells of anyone else’s body. Was there any place in LA where the people _weren’t_? He couldn’t even find peace in his own apartment with Spike’s skin in there touching his furniture, with that constant, quiet _t_ _ink…_ _t_ _ink…_ _t_ _ink_. But Spike had also taken an annoyingly strategic position between Angel and the elevator, and without even trying Angel knew there was no way he would just let him leave. Anyway, it was still daylight.

He bent to the research again.

An infamous European vampire in the late 1600s apparently maintained deviant affairs with several caninoid demons of varying species. They were mostly bipedal, but she kept them on leashes and flaunted the overtly sexual nature of the relationships everywhere she went, even public places. Angel suspected this had nothing at all to do with what Spike had dubbed ‘voodoo hormones’ and was simply a way that particular vampire indulged in shocking everyone. After all, if you can appall other demons, you can surely make a name for yourself in the evil underworld. This was the only documented case he could find of a vampire with a sexual proclivity for anything animal-like.

Obviously he knew that finding no evidence of any other vampires fucking dogs wasn’t necessarily proof that none _had_ , but it nevertheless made him feel slightly less concerned that he might accidentally find himself entangled in something embarrassingly bestial in nature before this case was solved.

Werewolves didn’t count, of course, since they looked human. Usually.

It _also_ didn’t count that Angel was turned on by reading about this vampire publicly fucking her overgrown demonic minions. It was the _public_ part that he found so intriguing, not the dog part. And anyway, it was one hundred percent Spike’s fault for forcing him to look this up in the first place.

Flash of an image in his mind: leading Spike through the office on a leash.

Angel closed the book and rubbed his face again. He was tired. Didn’t get much sleep with a clingy vampire snuffling into his neck all night. He debated going for a nap, sleeping the rest of the daylight hours away and then searching for a place to clear his head when night fell, but he hesitated, eyeing the closed book. Then he picked it up, held it close to his lips, and murmured, “Josephine of Aurelius, genealogy, biography, Wolfram and Hart personnel records.” When he opened it again, blank pages began to fill.

*

An hour later, that nap he wanted was still calling to him. Angel stood and stretched, his shoulders feeling tense and too-tight from hunching over the desk in his study. He could already feel that tingle down low in his belly, the familiar start of the twitchiness that would soon be too strong to ignore.

He could go ahead and take care of it. He’d already discussed this necessity with Spike, so it wasn’t like he was expected _not_ to do it; it wasn’t like it would be rude or anything. But it still felt awkward. Spike must have noticed that he'd jerked off in the shower that morning. If he went to take another shower right now, that would be like announcing that he was planning to do it again. Would Spike be sitting on the couch thinking about him touching himself under the warm water? Would it make Spike hard to picture his hands relentlessly stroking his slippery naked cock?

But if he didn’t do it in the shower, if he just did it right here in the study without any kind of announcement, Spike would know anyway. He’d hear him, probably smell what he was doing even down the hall like this. He might drift closer, listening to the sound of flesh rubbing flesh, Angel’s quiet breathing. He might lean in the doorway and watch. He might come inside and drop to his knees at Angel’s feet, offer his mouth again.

He might expect something in return.

That was the thing that made Angel hesitate. He wanted to put his hands on Spike. He even wanted to put his mouth on Spike. He _definitely_ wanted to put his dick in Spike, which was something he was trying not to think about too closely. (And judging from what Spike had whispered to him downstairs, he had similar desires about Angel, which Angel’s thoughts skirted over neatly… then came back to… then skirted away from again.) But he also knew that before yesterday, Spike had been the single most irritating thing in his entire unlife. And he was certain Spike had felt the same way about him.

Does suddenly finding someone _really freaking attractive_ erase all the times they’ve tried to kill you?

What about when it ends? Do you just go back to annoying each other? Do you look at them every day, think _I know what it’s like to come down your throat_ , and then just get on with your work? By this point Angel was resigned to thinking that about Spike – it’s not like he could go back in time and uncome in Spike’s mouth after all, and yeah, he was definitely going to be thinking about it every time he saw that mouth from now on – but he wasn’t quite sure that he was ready for Spike to have those sorts of thoughts about _him_.

This was already a struggle. There was no reason for them to create a new struggle by complicating the aftermath of the original struggle. When it was over, there should be as little struggling as possible. And that meant no regrets.

He tried to imagine fucking Spike and then going back to how things had been. There was no way! Spike would never be satisfied staying in LA once the hormone stuff wore off if he allowed himself to become that vulnerable to Angel. Despite what Spike had said during their naked conversation that morning, Angel believed there was already a risk Spike would bolt as soon as he remembered how he actually felt about Angel. So taking it any further at this point would be like... like knowingly risking the loss of a hero just to have a few orgasms.

Even if they would be really, really good orgasms.

On the other hand, what if… what if they just did mouth stuff? Maybe when it was all over Spike would be less embarrassed about sucking Angel off if Angel had also sucked him. So, maybe he could still go down on Spike. Going down on Spike was fair. Then they’d be… even?

Angel sighed. Brooding about how much sex to have with Spike: possibly a new low. Brooding with a hard-on… not actually a new thing, but also a low.

The sounds coming from the TV in the other room were less explosive now. Angel breathed deeply and concentrated. He wasn’t able to completely will away his erection, but he at least calmed it to a more reasonably-sized bulge before walking down the hall to the den. Spike was still sprawled on the couch. His duster was flung over a chair, one empty boot on the floor near the coffee table and the other by the TV, where they’d landed after being carelessly tossed aside. Angel approached the side of the couch and stopped. Without turning toward him, Spike said, “Simone should just go full-on lesbo. She’s gotta know Chad will never love her like he loves Whitney.”

Angel tilted his head, regarding the TV. After a moment, he murmured, “I haven’t kept up since Charity called off her wedding with Miguel.”

“They got back together.”

“Oh.”

Spike glanced over at him briefly, then shifted his position a little on the couch. It looked like a natural movement, as if he were just getting more comfortable while he watched the TV, but somehow afterward there was exactly enough space for Angel to sit down beside him. If he wanted.

Angel took a small step forward, then paused. Finally he said, “I think I’m going to lie down for a while.”

Without turning again, Spike replied quietly, “Want company?”

 _Yes_. He almost said it. He could see it so vividly in his head: leading Spike to the bedroom, stripping him down while they kissed, pushing him backward over the bed. Spike’s cock, hard and ready for him, weeping from the slit, straining toward him with the foreskin peeling back, just as it had been last night. He remembered the feel of it in his hand, the one stroke he'd given it before Spike had gone down on him. He smelled _so_ good.

“Nah, I’m just going to take a nap,” he said.

Spike did turn to look at him then. “You’re not gonna—?” He made a rude gesture.

“Just a nap, Spike.”

The expression Spike gave him seemed skeptical, but Angel ignored this and walked into his bedroom. He was glad to shed his work clothes and pull on a more comfortable pair of drawstring pajama pants, but slightly dismayed to find that his penis was still chubbed up enough to push out against the soft cotton material. He probably _should_ go ahead and take care of it – if nothing else, it would be easier to fall asleep after – but he couldn't very well say “Just a nap” and then walk into the next room and start vigorously beating off. He climbed into the bed, pulled the sheet up to his waist, and lay there on his back listening to Spike watching _Passions_. He was playing with his lighter again. _T_ _ink..._ _t_ _ink._

Angel dragged a pillow over his face and closed his eyes.

*

When he awoke some time later, Spike was standing silently by the bed in his jeans and Angel's t-shirt, arms crossed against his chest. He was turned at a slight angle, facing more toward the window than toward the bed, but he would be able to see Angel out of the corner of his eye if he looked. The sun was still up but not high, maybe an hour until sunset. The pillow had fallen away from Angel's face as he slept, so Angel lay there for a moment and just watched Spike as he looked out the window and chewed on his bottom lip. Eventually, without having given any other indication that he'd woken up, Angel said, “We've got to stop meeting like this.”

Spike didn't react, as though he had known Angel was awake and watching him. Without looking over, he said quietly, “It's hard to stay away. When I can smell you in here.” He huffed. “Like a bloody cold-seeking missile.” Suddenly turning his frustrated expression toward Angel, he said, “Are you even _trying_ to turn it off?”

The question was startling. “Turn it off?”

“Yeah! Stop being so—” Spike gestured at him.

Angel looked at himself, his bare upper body, his legs beneath the sheet. He looked back at Spike, confused. “What?”

“And _again_ with the puppy eyes.”

Still somewhat uncertain, Angel took the sheet in his hands and drew it up a little higher to cover more of his skin. He looked up, wondering if that had helped at all.

“Jesus Christ,” Spike muttered, turning away.

“Look, I'm not – I'm not doing any of this on purpose,” said Angel. “I don't want to hurt anyone. If I could shut it off, I would. You know that, right?”

Spike didn't look at him. “'Cept you've been doing it for nearly a hundred 'n thirty years.”

“What? No I haven't. You said it had only been a few days.”

The blond head tipped back, exasperated. “Whatever.”

The twitchiness, that insatiable tingle, crawled through Angel's skin, more insistent now than it had been before his nap. Angel watched Spike's tense shoulders and resisted the urge to touch himself beneath the sheet. He could sense Spike's arousal, not just the smell of it coming off his skin but the feel of it, the way it electrified the air around him. But he could smell it too, the way you can smell the ocean when you're wading through it up to your chin – the way it's the _only_ thing you can smell. “I'm sorry,” Angel said to the back of Spike's head. “Even though it's not intentional. I know this must be... worse for you. Than it would be for someone else.”

“Why would it be worse for me?”

“Because you hate me.”

The blond turned, his mouth coming open to reply, but Angel didn't want to hear whatever snarky comment he was going to make about their history or all the very good reasons he had to hate Angel, so before he could say anything Angel hurriedly added, “I'm glad it's you, though. I mean if anyone had to be stuck with me like this, it's a good thing it was you.”

Spike stared at him, brow furrowing. “And why's that then? You mean because I—?” He glanced down at Angel's crotch, where the sheet was tenting just a little bit more than it should have been.

“No! Jesus, Spike.” Angel sat up and drew his knees up as well, making the distortion less obvious. “Because you saved those people. The girl and the janitor. You're probably the only one who could have stopped me.”

“Oh.” He waved it away like it was no big deal. “Always wanted to punch you in the forehead.”

Angel rolled his eyes but reached up to touch said forehead, wondering if there was a fist-shaped bruise. “Well. It wasn't exactly elegant, but as far as effectiveness...”

“Yeah. My superhero slogan: 'Effective Inelegance.' Should have it printed up on some business cards.” He came forward and sat on the edge of the bed.

In any other circumstances, it would have seemed like a natural move, but the air was so charged with arousal that when Spike came near him, Angel could practically feel sparks where their auras rubbed together. Spike seemed to feel it too. He hesitated a moment, looking at Angel, but then he slid more fully onto the bed and leaned back against the headboard, drawing his knees up with his feet resting flat on the mattress in a mirror of Angel's position, except on top of the sheet instead of under it. The shock of his naked white feet sticking so innocently out of his black jeans made a throb of desire pulse unexpectedly through Angel's body.

Angel swallowed. “I'm still not sure we should—”

“Relax, peaches. Not trying to rip your petticoats.” Spike held up his hands, fingers spread to indicate he held no petticoat-ripping weapons. Then he crossed his arms on top of his knees and sighed. “It's just... better. To be near you. Even without touching.” The words came out haltingly, as if they had to be yanked from his mouth and left a bitter taste behind. “It's better to be... close.” He didn't meet Angel's eyes as he said this.

“Okay,” Angel said softly.

They sat. The clock on the bedroom wall ticked off the seconds.

“Well,” said Spike after a long moment. “This is good and bloody boring, innit?”

“Yeah. What did we used to do during the day?”

“Well back then we had the girls.”

Right. Angel's memory swelled with the recollection of countless days spent in the throes of wild sex with Darla and Drusilla, his queen and his princess – and William nearby, always energetic and naked and laughing and fucking along with them, a young prince, sometimes lying beside Angelus in the same bed as their partners rode them to completion, sometimes fucking Dru on the floor beside the bed where Angelus and Darla fucked, sometimes fucking Dru at the same time that Angelus was fucking her. But never reaching for him, never more touch between them than an impatient or friendly shove to change positions, never hands or eyes straying to each other's hardness when there was always so much softness available. Why didn't they? The girls did.

It had seemed like an innocent question. Angel coughed and pulled his knees up higher under the sheet. Spike cleared his throat and looked away.

Angel said, “I think I might have a deck of cards somewhere.”

“No kittens though. So what's the point really.”

“We could bet our souls.”

Spike huffed.

It struck Angel that he never normally had to entertain anyone but himself. Everything he did in his spare time was a solitary activity. There had been a selection of DVDs in a cabinet in the den when he moved in, but he'd never even looked through them. “We could watch a movie,” he offered. He didn't expect Spike to be interested since he'd already watched so much television that day, but it was at least an option. So Angel was thinking of the discs in the cabinet in the other room when Spike obligingly picked up a small remote from the bedside table and aimed it at the television across from the bed.

Angel had just enough presence of mind to blurt out, “No, wait—!” right as Spike clicked it on.

The large screen immediately filled itself with a naked man in a leather hood, strapped to a St. Andrew's cross with dark pink welts all over his glistening oiled skin, his erect penis being whipped by a small blonde woman with a riding crop.

Spike's eyes widened as Angel froze with embarrassment. Then the younger vampire burst into a loud peal of laughter.

Angel made a quick grab for the remote but Spike thrust it out of his reach and batted his hand away. “Spike!” Angel hissed.

“You fucking pervert!” Spike declared gleefully, holding the remote away as Angel dove for it again. “You sad, porno-watching, masochistic freak!” He could barely get the words out from giggling so hard.

“Give me that!”

“This is what you do in your spare time? Always picture you lying in bed moaning about all the bloody bugs you’ve stepped on; meanwhile here you are watching humans smack each other’s dicks ‘cause _you can’t get one to smack yours_!”

Angel would have been blushing furiously if he’d had the physical capability to do so. Instead, he narrowed his eyes at Spike and waited for a lull in the laughter. Then he said, “You _always_ picture me in bed?”

That made Spike’s wide grin falter, and as he tried to think of a suitable reply, Angel snatched the remote from his hand.

But then he hesitated, not immediately clicking the television off as he’d intended. “They're not human,” he said, as if it were some kind of defense. He grudgingly gestured toward the screen with the remote and added, “That guy’s a vampire.”

“What? No he’s not.” Spike tilted his head skeptically at the screen, suddenly interested. He sat back the way he had been before, arms propped on his knees. “How can you tell?”

“String of garlic hanging behind him. You can see it when he flinches.” They waited for the woman to crack the riding crop against the hooded vampire’s abused flesh again. He jerked back against the wooden X-shaped frame, briefly revealing the garlic braid swaying behind him. His whimper was almost a growl. “That’s probably why he’s got the hood,” said Angel. “So you can’t see his fangs. You can hear him though.”

“But you can’t smell him,” Spike pointed out. “Could just be play-acting. Hood and garlic, a little growling. Not much proof, is it?”

“The welts are healing too fast.”

They continued watching together as another angry red mark erupted onto the vampire’s skin, right across the middle of his hard cock where the woman whipped him. Within seconds, the mark had faded to a dull pink.

Spike’s eyes were glued to the screen. Without looking away, he said, “She’s not hitting him hard enough.” His hands closed into fists and then opened again, flexing against his knees. “Could still be human.”

Angel was also engrossed in the screen. “She cut him earlier. There was blood dripping down his… but she licked it off. And now the cut’s gone.”

“When? I didn’t see any blood.”

“It’s about 36 minutes in,” Angel said without thinking.

Spike slowly turned his head to look at him.

Right. Eyes still on the screen, Angel shrugged one bare shoulder and said, “I’ve seen this one before.” He waited for the bed to stop vibrating with Spike’s renewed burst of laughter and then added, “You know this hormone thing’s been happening for _days_.”

Spike nodded, barely suppressing a grin. “So, undead skin flicks on demand. Of course. Wish all our apocalypses were as easy as you.”

“My hormones aren’t an apocalypse,” Angel muttered.

“Depends who you ask, mate.”

They both fell silent then, watching the anonymous vampire’s genitals being whipped. Angel still held the remote ready to turn it off, but for some reason he wasn't pushing the button. When he'd seen this before, he'd imagined himself in the man's position, bound, feeling the sharp sting of the lashes against his flesh. He’d thought of Darla and the games they played a hundred years before Spike was even born. But now he was picturing Spike tied there instead and the riding crop in his own hand. Quietly, Angel said, “I can back it up to the part with the blood.”

The blond head inclined slightly. Angel took it as a nod and started to rewind.

The woman must be a vampire too, he decided as they watched the scene. There were no outwardly visible signs, but the delight in her eyes when she broke the man’s skin, the way her nostrils flared delicately at the scent of the blood that beaded up along the fierce cut across the head of his cock, the way her tongue eagerly traced the red trail… he recognized it all. And so did Spike. The younger vampire stared transfixed as she lapped at the small wound and the hooded man cried out in pleasure. She licked him until the cut closed, and then she kissed the spot with red lips. It was only a dark pink mark when she finally pulled away, and a couple of minutes later, even that had nearly faded.

The scent of Spike’s arousal gradually intensified while he watched. Just sitting beside him did things to Angel, even more than watching the vampires on the screen. One of Spike’s elbows still rested on his knee but his other arm had slid down a little, his hand folding itself over the obvious erection stretched along his thigh. His palm pressed against it as the scene played out. Angel’s own erection throbbed under the sheet but he kept his hand off it, grasping the remote tightly instead.

“There are twelve channels of this stuff,” he said finally, breaking the tense silence. “This one’s mostly vampires but the other ones have different things, sometimes with humans. That’s all this TV gets. Well, this and sports.” Eve had once said that the bedroom television was specifically tuned to Angel’s personal tastes. He told himself it was only what the Senior Partners assumed he would like and not actually based on reality, although to be fair he did always find something interesting on.

He also got the Hallmark channel.

Without tearing his gaze from the TV, Spike held out his free hand in front of Angel. “Give it.”

Angel dropped the remote in Spike’s hand and rested his crossed arms on his knees, trying to ignore his erection. The sheet over his legs made a tent on the bed for it to hide under but he still thought it too forward to slip a hand down and touch himself while Spike was sitting right there. Even though Spike didn’t seem to mind.

Spike aimed the remote and flicked the TV to the next channel. A slender blue demon with long purple hair and ridges along her spine bounced in a human’s lap. He tilted his head and changed channels again. Two big male demons with scaly skin and horns were fighting naked. Oh… not fighting. He pressed the button again and another human-looking man was lying in a bed with a succubus on each side. The blonde one was kissing him and the dark-haired one was sucking his cock. Spike lingered on this channel a bit longer than the others, then clicked again. A woman with a long tufted tail being spanked over a man's lap. Then two hairless red demons sharing a yellow spotted demon between them. A man being fucked by something with several fleshy purple tentacles. Two young women kissing naked, bathed in sunlight beside a swimming pool. He hesitated again on this channel and let his arm droop down, remote held loosely in his fingers. The heel of his other hand pressed against his cock again, trapped beneath black denim.

Angel watched Spike's hand roll against the bulge in his jeans. His scent was overwhelming, but it was impossible to tell if it was because Spike was so turned on or because Angel was so sensitive to it. He smelled even stronger than he'd smelled last night when he was actually coming over Angel's stomach, so it was probably due to increased sensitivity, but either way it was having an effect. Angel slid his fingers restlessly into his hair.

Still watching the women on the screen, Spike finally said, “Go on, then.”

His voice was so quiet that Angel wasn't even sure at first that he'd heard correctly. “Go... on?”

“We both know you need to. Better do it now before you get all fangy again.”

The sunlight glinted off the women's skin as their hands skimmed over each other's bodies. They looked so soft and warm. Angel imagined himself licking up the trickles of sweat between their breasts. The way they must taste, all sweet and salty and human. The way Lana had last night. “And you're what, just going to sit there?”

“Nope,” Spike said, and unbuttoned his jeans. He slid his hand under the worn fabric and Angel could see the shape of his fingers going around his hard dick, moving it into a more comfortable position to jerk off. As he watched, Spike began to squeeze it and pull slowly, staring straight ahead at the TV. After another moment of tense silence, Spike rolled his eyes and said impatiently, “I won't look, if that's what's stopping you.”

It wasn't. Angel just had a vague notion that this wasn't something they should do together in the same bed, although _why_ they shouldn't was suddenly becoming a lot harder to remember. He felt sure he'd worked it all out in his head before... But on the other hand, he _did_ need the release, and Spike was right – if he didn't do something about it now, getting fangy was a distinct risk. So without argument, Angel slipped one hand discreetly underneath the sheet. He pulled his drawstring undone and pushed his pajama pants down just enough to free his cock under the thin material draped across his lap.

God, he was so hard. He wrapped his fingers around his stiff erection and squeezed, letting his eyes fall closed. That sensitive feeling pulsed through him like the insistent flutter of a heartbeat, quick and light. He began to stroke slowly, short controlled motions, holding back so he wouldn't draw unnecessary attention away from the TV to the shape of his hand moving up and down under the sheet. When he opened his eyes again, he felt Spike watching him anyway for the briefest of moments before his eyes darted back to the television. Angel pretended not to notice.

On the screen, the two women were still kissing, their small hands roaming across bare breasts and hips. He remembered watching Dru and Darla touch each other that way and wondered if that's what Spike was thinking about, how they would fondle and caress each other and laugh quietly to themselves without letting the boys near them, teasing themselves to the height of desire before allowing Angelus and Spike finally to lay hands on their bodies. He wondered if Spike remembered watching him with Darla, all those times pushing into her just inches away from where Spike pushed into Dru.

Angel let his gaze drop to Spike's hand inside his open jeans, watch where his wrist disappeared under the black denim. The thin silver chain of his bracelet peeked out, catching the light when he moved. Angel could see the exact outline of Spike's cock where it pushed out the material, the circle of his grip tugging up and down in the tight space. The way those jeans lay undone, he could even see a few dark golden hairs curling out beside Spike's wrist, stark against his pale skin.

The remote lay abandoned on the bed between them. What would Spike say if he picked it up and changed the channel back to the two big male demons or the man getting tentacle-fucked?

Had Spike ever been fucked in the ass before? Even if he'd never been with another man, it was possible that Dru had developed a penchant for toys. Maybe she had even used the same toys that Darla had used on him. Angel's hand tightened around his erection as he pictured Drusilla buckling that leather harness around her slim hips, Spike waiting for her on the bed on his knees, his naked bottom turned up, face buried in a pillow.

Angel breathed softly. The smell of Spike so close to him right now, the way he could smell what Spike was doing to himself... that ocean-scent of him seeped in through all of Angel's senses. His eyes fell closed again and his hand sped up, the women on the screen forgotten. He slowly leaned back against the headboard, working his hand up and down tightly under the sheet. He could feel Spike looking at him again, the liar, but he wasn't bothered. Let him look. A flare of heat crept up his neck from the attention.

A quiet sound, barely there huff of breath. Angel rolled his head to the side and opened his eyes. Spike was looking down at his lap, at the movement of his forearm where it went under the sheet. He was watching the way the thin material shifted over the hidden motion, how it raised and lowered with each fast stroke. Angel watched Spike’s eyes watching his hand, Spike’s pink bottom lip bitten softly between flat human teeth.

Slowly, Angel stretched out one leg, his knee lowering to the bed. The cover floated down with him. Now every time he stroked downward, the sheet grazed the tip of his dick before he stroked up again, pushing the material away. He changed from the short rapid motions to longer, more intense and deliberate pulls, giving the sheet just enough time to settle more fully over his cock, outlining it for his audience, before lifting up again. Spike made another soft sound, this tiny unintentional breath, and closed his eyes.

He had to know he’d been caught looking, but neither of them said anything about it. This was all pretense anyway, this idea that nothing was actually happening as long as they didn’t touch each other, that this could somehow be a normal thing between them. Jerking off to porn in Angel’s bed together, just an average day for a couple of ensouled vampires who weren’t even friends.

Spike also straightened one leg, his bare foot pushing across the surface of the bed as his knee lowered. He leaned back the way Angel was leaning back, tipped his head back as well. He was pretty like this, Angel thought, face still turned toward him. A few tufts of that platinum hair lying out of place because he hadn’t gelled it that morning and Angel’s fingers had been all through it. The line of his neck, the bob of his adam’s apple when he swallowed. The place where the neck of Angel’s borrowed t-shirt was just a little too big for him, the start of his collarbone peeking out just there. Not saying anything, just relaxing into the pleasure of his own hand.

The not saying anything was maybe the best part.

Those thick foggy feelings that had been invading Angel’s head for the past few days were creeping back in with the smell of Spike’s body. A weird image came to him, this idea that he could be drowning, but instead of water, it was skin. Just breathing in Spike’s skin, tasting it in his mouth. He wanted to press his lips to Spike’s neck, breathe him closer. Swallow him. He watched Spike’s wrist, the way it pushed at the loose opening of his jeans, black denim flapping quietly over his knuckles as he rubbed.

Very slowly, Angel drew his hand out from underneath the sheet and reached for Spike's lap. Without touching Spike's skin at all, he gently took hold of one side of the opening and folded the denim flap down with his fingers, then tilted his head slightly to get a better look at the hand beneath.

Spike's movement had halted as soon as Angel reached for him, but when he saw that the older vampire simply wanted a less obstructed view, he obligingly pulled his hard cock completely free from his jeans. He risked a look at Angel, eyebrow raised, as he continued fisting it, now in the open air. Squeezing on the upstroke.

With a tiny grunt of satisfaction, Angel slipped his hand back under the sheet. He went on working his own erection through his tight fist until the drag of the soft sheet across the tip made him pause. Spike was slowly tugging the sheet down with his free hand, uncovering him. Well, fair's fair. Angel let it happen, the cool material pulling over his sensitive flesh in a way that made his skin tingle.

Two hard dicks jutting up from two aroused vampires, side by side. A matched set, like novelty salt and pepper shakers. A bead of clear fluid trembled in Spike's slit, and Angel watched his fist come up, turn slightly, and push back down, smearing it.

Angel adjusted his grip again. He was usually much rougher with himself than this, should probably speed up, rub hard, get it over with. But the sight of Spike touching himself – and God, the smell of him – made Angel want to draw it out. Make it last. Sink into the feeling. He was breathing softly, lips parted to bring Spike's scent into the back of his throat. He wanted to lean down closer. Put his face right against Spike's bare skin and inhale him like a drug.

“You know we don't have to do it this way.” Spike's voice, quiet. His hand still stroking while he looked at Angel with those dilated pupils.

A little thrill zinged through Angel's stomach at Spike's expression. He closed his eyes and didn't reply.

“We're both ready, Angel. We both... want to...”

The bed shifted and Angel quickly opened his eyes again. He wasn't sure what he would do if Spike touched him right now. But Spike wasn't touching him, was just significantly closer to his body, turned toward him, one hand braced on the bed near Angel's hip while his other kept rubbing his cock. His head was tilted to one side as he watched Angel's hand, his lips parted slightly, breathing.

Angel swallowed. He let his thumb slide slickly forward and back over the blushing tip of his erection. “What exactly do you think we both want to do?” he asked.

“Shag,” Spike said, like it was obvious.

“That's... that's not a good idea, Spike.” The words came very softly, on a sigh. Angel's cock throbbed in his hand. He badly needed relief and felt himself wishing for the silence of a moment ago.

“What happened to not ruling it out?”

Angel tilted his head. “What happened to not watching me?”

“Oh, please. You bloody love being watched, always have.” His gaze swept down Angel’s body, and he shifted closer. Just a little, barely noticeable, but Angel could feel his breath coast lightly across his shoulder. In a quiet voice, Spike said, “Use both hands.”

“Lose the shirt,” said Angel.

Spike immediately let go of his own cock to reach back and grab the neck of the t-shirt he was wearing and pull it forward over his head and off. He threw it across Angel to the floor on the other side of the bed, now naked except for the open black jeans. His hair was rumpled from removing the shirt and he looked young like this, sweet, with those bare feet and pink lips. His erection stood stiff against his pale belly, peeking out over the denim, the shiny head flushed a ruddy dark pink. Spike took it in his hand again and squeezed. Another clear drop of moisture beaded up in the slit.

Angel brought his other hand down to cradle his balls as he watched Spike touch himself and let Spike watch him. Spreading his thighs a little, Angel pressed the heel of his hand against his balls and then ran his thumb over them while he stroked his cock. His skin was tingling all over. He gave his balls a hard downward tug and the sudden ache of it added a sharp edge to the pleasure. He could hear Spike swallow.

“I want you,” Spike murmured, inching closer. He still wasn't touching Angel anywhere, but the sliver of air that separated their bodies practically vibrated between them.

Angel watched Spike's bare chest as he breathed in and out. Right now, he looked almost alive, almost human, except his skin was slightly too perfect. He imagined putting his mouth to that perfect skin, marking the pale smoothness with his teeth. He sped up, jerking his cock roughly. It passed through his tight fist on the slickness that leaked slowly from the puffy slit. “I know,” he said.

Spike stared down at Angel's urgent movements, his own hand matching speed. “Such a bloody cocktease,” he breathed. His eyebrows drew together, as much in frustration as concentration on chasing his own orgasm. His tongue darted out to wet his lips.

That was it, Angel's trigger. That quick little flash of pink tongue, unintentional. He shuddered and yanked his balls down again as they tried to draw up, and the dull flare of pain pushed him right over the edge.

Just as Angel began to come with a quiet gasp, Spike unexpectedly leaned down and caught the pulsing cock in his mouth, lips sealing around the swollen pink head. Angel swore and his hips nearly came up off the bed with the suddenness of that wet mouth on him as he spurted into it.

The first shot had landed at the corner of Spike's lips right before they closed around him. That splash of cool semen dripped down his chin while he sucked firmly on the sensitive flesh that filled his mouth, forcefully drawing out the rest of Angel's release like pulling a long hot thread from somewhere coiled deep inside his belly. The euphoric tremors vibrated through Angel's whole self for a shockingly prolonged amount of time, longer than any orgasm he'd ever had before, and he cursed two or three more times while his body trembled through it.

He was panting softly as he came down from the high. Fuck, that was... incredible. The best one yet. But then, he supposed they all were.

His fingers had automatically tangled into Spike's hair to hold his head down, but he didn't immediately let go when he was done, even though he knew he ought to. Spike was still sucking gently, and the feeling was still making Angel shiver. He heard the blond swallow, then suck some more, then swallow again. Spike's tongue moved very slowly from one side to the other under his cockhead, and Angel sighed, his toes curling. He ran his fingers through the bleached hair, smoothing it down where it had been mussed. But he didn't let him up yet. He actually felt a little dizzy. Strangely, Spike wasn't trying to back away either.

Then, without letting Angel slip out of his mouth, Spike lowered himself completely to the bed and let his head rest on Angel's thighs, soft pajama pants bunched beneath his cheek. He curled on his side, lips around Angel's plump cock, eyes closed, and lay there for all the world as if he would just drift to sleep that way, with Angel petting his hair. But he had one hand down, still squeezing his own erection as he sucked Angel's tender flesh. He still smelled as aroused as before, his tantalizing scent keeping Angel from going soft in his mouth despite the incredible orgasm, but he also seemed content for the moment just to lie like this, absorbed in some private feeling.

Frankly, it was kind of bizarre.

Angel was reminded of the previous night when Spike had wanted nothing more than to sleep on top of him with his cum smeared between their bodies. This was weird in the same way, although in fairness Angel had to admit that as long as his dick was in Spike's mouth, he couldn't really complain. He let his hand wander from Spike's soft hair down the back of his neck, through the valley between his shoulder blades and down his back, palm sliding along silky skin, following the indent of his spine. The fog was gradually clearing from his brain like usual, but even though he felt more like himself now – no longer twitchy or restless or distracted – a curious feeling lingered, not physical, but somehow not yet satisfied.

He found himself staring down at Spike's hand still clutching his own need. Right. It was that.

“Spike,” he said.

“Mm?” came the muffled reply.

“Move.” Angel pushed at his shoulder.

Spike opened his eyes and squinted up at Angel without making any other indication of movement. His expression was eloquent enough: _Fucking really? Now?_

Angel slipped a hand underneath Spike’s chin and eased him away. His still half-hard wet penis flopped out of Spike's mouth and Spike frowned at it, licking spilled semen from his lips. Then he shook his head. “No, m’not done yet.” He leaned forward to capture it with his lips again, but Angel caught his jaw and gently pushed him back.

“Stop that,” Angel said. Before Spike could argue, Angel took him by the shoulders and shoved his upper body backwards, his head landing on the bed near Angel’s feet still under the sheet. Then he grabbed Spike’s hips and quickly hauled him over his lap. Spike’s jean covered ass hit Angel’s thighs, black denim knees bent on either side of Angel’s body.

Spike's mouth dropped open angrily to protest the sudden manhandling, but when he tried to sit up, his objection melted into a gasped “ah!” as Angel’s fist closed tightly around the leaking erection that jutted out of his unfastened jeans. He collapsed back against the bed with a groan.

Angel immediately began stripping Spike's cock quickly through his fingers, not bothering to work his way up to a fast pace since Spike had already been jerking it rapidly. The skin moved along with his hand, but enough precum had trickled out that Spike's dick would have slid slickly through his fist anyway, the ridge of the swollen head strumming swiftly across his fingers. Angel watched, studying Spike's flushed cock as he stroked it hard, treating it roughly the way he himself liked. It felt interesting to do it this way, different, a familiar motion but upside-down from the way he was used to because of the angle, the way Spike's body was turned.

Spike was panting through it, quiet fast breaths through parted lips, eyes squeezed shut against the intensity. He almost looked like he was in pain, fingertips digging into the mattress, his other hand gripping Angel's ankle through the sheet. But the way his hips thrust toward Angel's hand, it was clear how he craved the touch, rough as it was. He cursed sharply and his whole body went rigid, his cock straining upward, practically begging for the abuse Angel was giving it. “Oh, fuck, _fuck_! Yeah...”

Angel squeezed the stiff flesh as he jerked it expertly, his other hand grasping Spike's hip, keeping him in place. No choice but for him to take it like this, fast and harsh. He could feel the twitch of Spike's muscles as he tried to hold back, make it last. But then Angel shifted his grip and his thumb came up the underside of the dark pink cockhead, rubbing wetly over the tender place where the slit came together. The pad of his thumb slid up that sensitive spot over and over, mercilessly stimulating it on every quick stroke. Spike cried out, his thighs trembling, and suddenly came with a shudder.

Angel didn't let up, working him through the orgasm with a steady fist as thick globs of cum spurted forcefully across Spike's bare stomach and chest, one shot even jetting up far enough to hit his neck. Spike gasped and swore as he came hard, ass pressed to Angel's lap, his upper body lying taut across the bed, hanging onto Angel's ankle with one hand while his other squeezed a fistful of the sheet. His whole body shivered through the end of his peak, the last bit of semen pulsing from his chubby wet dickhead to drip over Angel's fingers. The stroking finally slowed when Spike began to squirm from the sensitivity and let out a short, helpless giggle.

The sound made Angel suppress a smile. He stopped but left his hands where they were, one holding Spike's hip and the other curled lightly around his penis. Spike's spend coated his hand and he had the strong urge to bring it up to his mouth for a taste. Just not in front of Spike.

Spike lay breathing on the bed. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, and laughed softly. He let go of Angel and the covers and used both hands to rub his eyes. “Bloody fucking hell.” Then he pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked at Angel like he was seeing him for the first time, pupils still wide and dark. His smug little grin was absurdly cute.

“What?” said Angel. That look sent a tiny bloom of warmth through his chest. He wondered if he looked as pleased with himself as Spike did. Probably not. No one could look that pleased.

“Nothing,” Spike said, still grinning. He suddenly sat up, and because of the way his hips were positioned, Angel promptly found himself with a smug blond vampire straddling his lap. Without further notice, Spike took his lips in a soft, slow kiss, his palms sliding over Angel's shoulders. This one was much sweeter than their previous kisses had been, not motivated by uncontrolled urgency. It was actually... kinda nice, Angel thought. One of Spike's hands caressed the back of his neck, fingers lazily drifting up into his hair. Angel could taste himself on Spike's lips and his fist squeezed affectionately around the cock in his hand. “Mmm,” Spike hummed, then pulled back just long enough to whisper, “Let's go again.” He sucked Angel's bottom lip into his mouth.

“Again?” Angel breathed into the kiss. He thought about it. Yeah, he could definitely go again. It was different now, though. He wasn't feeling twitchy anymore. Or, well, he was, but only in an I-am-a-vampire-who-likes-sex-and-Spike-has-a-pretty-mouth kind of way, not in an I-need-to-orgasm-right-exactly-now-or-I-might-commit-murder kind of way.

“Yeah, again,” Spike said, and Angel could hear the smile in his tone before his head tilted to kiss Angel's neck. He nipped softly with his teeth and pressed his lips to the spot. “Can go a lot longer this time. Now that the edge is off, like.” He shifted his hips forward slightly, a subtle thrust into Angel's hand.

But it was starting to seem wrong now. It wouldn't be fair for Angel to agree to go further while Spike was clearly still affected and he wasn't. Shit, they were dancing dangerously close to regret territory again. But he smelled so good... and the thing he was doing with his tongue against Angel's neck... Angel closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on saying no. Spike's dick in his hand wasn't helping at all. He really should let go of it.

“Spike, this isn't us,” he said. “This isn't... this isn't you.” He could very clearly imagine himself flipping Spike down onto the bed underneath him and simply ravishing his body, marking his skin, taking him hard – starting with stripping off these goddamn jeans, which, how was he even still wearing them? – forcing pretty sounds from his mouth, tasting him all over, making him come again. And right now, Spike would probably let him do all of that. The Spike that was currently sucking an intriguing pattern of hickeys into his neck would very likely be on board for all manner of things that they'd never done together before, and the fact that it even crossed Angel's mind _not_ to put a stop to it made him feel like a total creep.

“'Course it's me,” Spike murmured against his skin. He inhaled deeply into Angel's neck and sighed. “Fuck sake, Angel, you smell like the best bloody dream a bloke could have. Whatever it is you're pumping out... It's lighting up the whole sodding building. Wish you could smell it. You couldn't keep your hands off you either.” He chuckled softly and pulled back to give Angel a thoughtfully amused look. “Well. Reckon you can't anyway.”

Then he leaned in to kiss Angel's mouth again, but Angel turned his head before he could. “That's exactly what I'm talking about,” he said quietly. “It's not you. It's me.”

“See, now, that sounded a bit like a breakup, mate. And as we're not going steady—”

“You don't really want me,” Angel tried again, striving to keep his voice kind without tipping into condescension. He ruefully withdrew his hands from Spike's body, already missing the feel of him, that rigid shaft in his fingers, velvety smooth. “Think about it. Really think. You never wanted me before, and only one thing is different now.”

All traces of the pleased look, that amused expression that seemed at once both curious and content with the world, the one that made Angel feel kinda funny in his chest, vanished. Spike's jaw clenched instead and this was the familiar version of him, the one that seemed older, more jaded. “Right,” he said, abruptly rolling off Angel’s lap to stand beside the bed. “Didn’t mean to accidentally enjoy myself for a bit. Thanks for reminding me you’re still a manipulative bastard that I clearly wouldn’t want.”

Angel frowned at him, pulling up the front of his pajamas to cover himself. “Manipulative, seriously? Coming from you? Spike, you’re literally trying to manipulate me right now.” He grabbed the remote and turned off the porn.

“What? No I’m not!”

“Yes you are. You just said that to try and guilt trip me into having sex with you.”

“Well according to _you_ , Mr. I Know Spike Better Than He Knows Himself Gaslighting Pompous Arse, I apparently don’t _want_ to have sex with you. So it couldn’t be that, could it?” Spike bent down to snatch the t-shirt he’d been wearing from the floor, not bothering to fasten his jeans.

“Oh, excuse me for trying to protect your feelings!”

“My feelings don’t need protecting, Angel! I’m not a bloody child. And I especially don’t need you using _my_ feelings against me when we both know what’s really happening here.”

Angel crossed his arms, aiming a glare at Spike’s annoyingly attractive face. The fact that he’d still been interested in sex with Spike even though he’d already triggered the reset to normal had been a little unsettling. Arguing, being angry, felt so much more familiar between them than newly discovered desire that it was almost a relief. “Fine. Enlighten me, Spike. What do you think is _really_ happening here?”

He could tell the younger vampire was itching to let him in on whatever cutting revelation he’d had, but as soon as Spike's snide mouth opened, his words faltered. “You don’t—” he started. He cleared his throat. “You’re using me 'cause…” He suddenly looked away from Angel’s face, toward the window instead, gritting his teeth. A muscle ticked in his cheek. Then he turned his scowl back on Angel. “Look, I don’t actually care that you don’t want me. But at least have the decency to admit it. None of this pretending you know how I feel bollocks. You keep saying _I_ don't want it, but we both know you're just using that as some stupid bleeding excuse to make yourself feel better about giving me the brush-off. So yeah, it's _not_ me, Angel. It's you.”

Point made, Spike stalked moodily off to the bathroom, leaving Angel alone to unpack what he'd said.

Pretending?! Angel flung himself irritably out of bed to go wash Spike's spend from his hand in the kitchen sink. _Pretend_ _ing_ he knew how Spike felt! As if it weren't obvious enough already, Angel couldn't even count the number of times Spike had literally told him – since yesterday! – that he didn't really want him, that there was nothing enticing there, that he was only trying to help, that Angel was actually... what was it? Oh right, repulsive!

He heard the shower come on and for a moment seriously contemplated barging into the bathroom just to point out that Spike had made it pretty clear multiple times how attracted to Angel he _wasn't_. And every time he'd indicated the opposite, he'd been under the influence of voodoo hormones! What was he supposed to do, assume Spike was lying about not wanting him? And that their current weird circumstances just happened to give him a convenient excuse to reveal he actually _did_ find Angel attractive?

No. No, it was too stupid. Spike clearly hated him and only wanted to have sex because Angel's smell made him horny, and he wanted to blame Angel's feelings instead of his own for the rejection because he didn't want to admit Angel was right to put an end to it. That made so much more sense. And not just because Angel had no freaking clue how he was supposed to react if Spike actually _did_ want...

Sunset! Thank fuck.

Angel went back into the bedroom and quickly dressed himself, topping off with his long black trench coat, an old favorite. He could hear the shower still spraying down as he headed back out and boarded the elevator, punching the button for the ground floor. Big surprise, Spike wasn't being careful. Again.

In fact... as the elevator doors closed and he began to descend, Angel frowned at the button console, recalling the six numbers that had been lit up when Spike enabled the lockdown the previous night. There had been a 22, but the others were single digits. If 22 corresponded to a day, and there was one number for a month, and the other four digits represented a year...

Wow. Now Wesley was the one who hadn't been careful, though Angel supposed when Wes had programmed the lockdown code, he'd had no reason to believe Angel himself would ever be the one enabling it. After all, this trap had been designed for him.

Which meant it would keep Spike in as well.

When the lift stopped and the doors opened, Angel quickly punched in the numbers for Cordelia's birthday – the Angel Investigations alarm passcode for roughly four years – and listened to the compressive hiss throughout the elevator shaft. The floor numbers remained lit as he stepped out.

Finally. Time for some fresh air.

*


	6. Josephine of Aurelius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you remember what it was like, Angel? Having a family?”

*

He didn't take a car. After being cooped up in the Wolfram and Hart building all day – literally locked in for several hours, then manacled to a conference table, then dragged back upstairs and cornered inside by an over-possessive chain-smoker with a possible television addiction of some kind – Angel just wanted to stretch his legs, spend some time breathing in the night air, traveling quickly and silently through dark alleys and across rooftops, and melting comfortably into the shadows the way he was meant to.

Would be nice to maybe get in a slay or two before sunrise. His latest release had done a decent job of clearing his head, and he felt more like himself than he had since they'd taken on the modusbeast hive. He headed back that way, toward the warehouse district, mood improving as he walked. Maybe he'd get lucky and come across those two modusbeasts that had escaped the other night.

He intentionally took a long and winding route in the direction of where the hive had been, not in any specific hurry to get there and glad to be in his own company for a while. He inhaled the scent of his city, the mixture of old cement and chlorine and tangy metal. Wet pavement and fried fare from food trucks. Exhaust fumes, the salted wind off the ocean, the acrid stench wafting up from the sewer. Everything smelled so potent now, so much more real, like he'd been dreaming when he smelled it all before, but somehow now he'd been shaken awake. Violently.

His cell phone buzzed again in his pocket, maybe the ninth or tenth call. And that would be one very pissed off short vampire, Angel assumed without looking. The thought of Spike calling him just to bark profanities and make threats from within the prison of Angel's penthouse amused him somewhat, but he still didn't answer. Given the last thing Spike had said, Angel wasn't sure _how_ to answer.

Spike either wanted him – had wanted him even before this whole damn hormone thing started – or he didn't want him but was so affected by the hormone thing that he couldn't _remember_ not wanting him, or he'd only implied that he wanted him because what he really wanted was sex and it wasn't important to him how he felt about Angel outside of that. The only other possibility was that Angel had misread what Spike said and there was no wanting of any kind, only resenting and blaming. That's the one that actually sounded the most familiar.

Well. At least the weather was nice.

Angel stopped walking for a moment to consider the side of a nearby building, the way the mortar had crumbled away in places from the old yellowish bricks. His fingers flexed. It was taller than his usual... oh, why the hell not? He was feeling strangely energetic. He bounced on his toes a couple of times, crouched, and then sprinted toward the wall. A few feet before he would have made a vampire-shaped hole through the bricks, he jumped as high as he could, long black coat flapping behind him. The Batman impression, his friends called it.

He was climbing as soon as he touched the wall, scaling the sheer surface so quickly it would have impressed a spider. This only works if you do it faster than you have time to think about it. No contemplating footholds or ledges, just grasp, pull, kick, get your body up the bricks as swiftly and lightly as possible, putting your momentum from the jump to good use. The building will fall away beneath you as you throw yourself upward. Humans can't do it, not strong or swift enough, too heavy a touch, too tempted to linger and look down. But vampires were built for it, like that one lizard species that's so fast and light it can run across water.

Five stories in a matter of moments, and then he was over the top ledge with a hard push that had him landing on his feet and the knuckles of one hand, as if he'd jumped down onto the roof instead of up. He stood, smiling a little, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat as he peered down over the edge to see how far he'd climbed. The alley looked small below him. Nice. The phone in his pocket buzzed again against his fingers.

“Hey, remember when I taught you how to scale walls?” he answered pleasantly.

“Where the bloody fuck are you?!”

“You were, what, like two years old before I realized you couldn't? Always running around buildings the long way. I just thought you were trying to annoy me.”

“Angel,” Spike growled at him, “you bring your shifty bastard arse back here _this instant_. If I have to blow a hole in the side of this bloody flat to come collect you, so help me I—”

“No.”

“No?!”

Angel could imagine Spike pulling the phone away from his ear and staring down at it incredulously. It was sort of funny.

“Fuck your no, Angel! You can't just say _no_ like it's a bleeding choice I'm giving you. Get back here now!”

“No,” said Angel, finding it perfectly easy to say. “Call someone to let you out if you want, but I'm not coming back yet.” He stepped up onto the ledge around the top of the building, flat roof to one side and sheer drop on the other, and began to walk an effortless path that would have terrified a human. “Still can't believe it took me that long to notice you just didn't know how to do it.”

“How to... what? What in fuck's name are you on about?”

“When I taught you to climb. If you were two, I guess I would have been... a couple years older than you are now, huh? Wow, that's weird to think about. Imagine yourself teaching a fledge to climb buildings in the city. You remember?”

Confusion over the seemingly random subject seemed to distract Spike from his anger a little, although he still sounded annoyed. “Remember you chasing me up a bloody wall? Rings a bell, yeah.”

Put that way, it sounded like his memory of the lesson wasn't exactly the same friendly game that Angel's was. “I remember it being fun,” said Angel.

A huff of disagreement. “For you, maybe. I seem to recall being hunted up and down every building in London and threatened with a holy water bath if you caught hold of me.”

Ah, so it _was_ exactly the same! Spike gave himself away with the note of smugness threaded through the bitter reply. He'd enjoyed learning the skill and he'd especially enjoyed discovering how fast he could be when his hide depended on it. Angel smiled a little at the shared fond memory – and the fact that he'd managed to draw Spike into an actual conversation so easily. “You were a quick study.”

“Had to be. You try having your skin on the hook to the scourge of an entire continent and we'll see how fast you learn to scale any sodding thing in your path.”

Angel kicked idly at a flaw in the cement of the ledge he stood on. “I actually learned the same way,” he said. “Guess I never mentioned it.”

“Yeah?” A hint of real curiosity. “Who went thundering round after you, then?”

It made a certain kind of sense that Spike didn’t immediately picture Darla teaching him. Dresses made it nearly impossible to scramble up the sides of buildings, which was why Spike hadn't learned this sort of thing from his own sire early on, although he did witness Drusilla do it once many years later. She was naked at the time.

“Darla,” Angel said, and stepped off the roof to land lightly on a lower ledge on the far side of the building. He kept walking, a wall now to his left. “I was only a couple of weeks old. Said she didn’t ever want me slowing her down, so she killed a stable hand for his clothes and chased me all over Dublin dressed as a man.” He still thought of her smiling slyly, blonde hair tucked up into the stable boy’s hat, almost every time he climbed. “Pretty much what I did with you, just a slightly different incentive. Her teaching method was more… reward-based.”

“Meaning she shagged you on a roof.”

“Every roof,” Angel confirmed.

“Yeah, I’d call that slightly different.”

“Hang on a second.” Angel slipped the phone into his coat pocket again, put his back to the wall, then took one step to the edge of the ledge and leaped across the alley below, catching the rail of a metal fire escape on the next building over. He gracefully pulled himself up onto the rusty staircase and began to ascend, putting the phone back up to his ear. “Alright. You know, you’re a lot easier to talk to when I can’t smell you.”

“For your sake, I won't take that personally.”

“Do you think that’s what I should’ve done? When I taught you. To climb walls. Back then.”

There was a confused pause, and then, “Shag, uh, shag me on rooves? You’re asking if you should’ve shagged me on rooves?”

“I’ll be honest, it didn’t even occur to me at the time. You were Dru’s. I just helped out because I wanted you to survive. I mean… usually.” A breeze ruffled Angel’s hair. He turned his face toward it.

“Consider me flattered.”

“But, you know, you always had her and I always had Darla and it just never… Did you want me to? Not necessarily on a rooftop, but… Did you?”

Another pause down the line, longer than the last. Angel was at the top of the fire escape now, a few stories higher than the other building. The modusbeast hive had been nearby. A familiar scent drifted past.

Finally Spike said, “Why’re you asking me this now?”

“You mean why did I bring it up or why did it take so long?” Angel asked quietly. He expected another pause after this, so he again slipped the phone into his pocket, then jumped high and vaulted over the top edge of the building, landing silently on the roof. He lifted the phone back to his ear and began crossing to the other side. When Spike still said nothing, he continued, “It's what you said. About me pretending to know how you feel. I’ve always thought it was pretty clear that you hate me, but if I’m missing something here…”

He stopped to give Spike an opportunity to answer, but there was just more silence. “Look, I'm not – I’m not that great at picking up on this sort of thing,” said Angel. “So if there’s something you want me to know, you’re gonna have to spell it out for me.” Silence again. “Spike, are you there?”

“Angel.” Spike’s voice sounded tired. “Where are you?”

“On a roof three blocks from the freeway. You're changing the subject.”

“Just come back, alright?”

“No. If we’re going to have this conversation, we need to do it while we can’t smell each other.”

“I’m locked inside your flat, you low-hanging plum. Think there’s a single thing in this place that doesn’t reek of you? Might as well have your knob down my throat right now.”

Angel's hand tightened involuntarily around his phone. “Oh,” he said. There was a faint twinge down low in his belly.

“Come back.”

“No. I need some kind of answer before I see you again. If something happened...”

“Maybe you’d have your answer if you came back.”

Angel sighed. “Spike,” he said softly, “we both know what I’d have if I came back.”

He could hear the slow exhale as this comment was considered. “Fair enough,” Spike eventually said. “Now ask yourself what you’ll have if you stay out there. I don’t want that on your conscience, Angel, and I know you don’t either. Can’t help you from in here, can I? Come back.”

He thought about it; he really did. For a full ten seconds, which is how long it took for that familiar scent to waft by him again on the breeze. The back of his neck tingled, and for one brief moment, he thought Spike had somehow gotten free of the penthouse and come to find him. But then he realized who it was.

“No,” he said quietly, and hung up.

The phone immediately buzzed again as he slipped it into his pocket, but Angel didn’t look at it. He knelt at the edge of the roof he was standing on and leaned out, looking down. There she was. Far below, but he could still tell it was her, could still feel it. Josephine of Aurelius. She was talking with someone down there, either another vampire or a human, but from this distance he couldn't hear what they said.

The two walked along the dark alley together, and Angel followed them several stories above their heads, watching. Then they turned the corner alongside the building he was standing on and the other figure gestured toward an opening into the side of the warehouse across the street. A trailer loading dock. The dock door was partially rolled up, and they made their way to it, both climbing up underneath to enter the building.

It was much too far away for him to jump across the loading area to the other warehouse, so Angel dropped silently down to the fire escape on this side of the building and descended the stairs quickly, jumping the last fifteen feet to the ground. He crossed to the other warehouse and approached the dock door from the side, crouching down to peer cautiously into the opening at floor level, about three feet above the pavement. None of the lights inside were on, but as Angel watched, three shadowy figures at the far side of the large storage facility began to light candles on the cement floor.

“Damn thing was a nightmare to catch,” one of them was saying, a young black woman in a newsie cap. “Stupid fast. Get within fifty feet and they skitter off like a goddamn cockroach. You ever seen one jump?” The disgust was evident in her voice.

“Almost took my head off with those claws,” said a large white man wearing a plaid shirt, the one who had brought Josephine here. “Next big ass bug you want trapped alive, you're doing it yourself, Jo. I didn't sign up for this demon shit.”

“This is the only modusbeast you could find?” Josephine asked them both as she lit the last candle. “You're sure there aren't any more?”

“The hive was wrecked. Looked like a fire maybe, or some kind of bomb,” the woman told her. “Definitely weren't any left in there.”

“Could be more got away,” the man added. “Scent was all over the fuck. But it's the only one we found.”

“Good,” said Josephine. “That simplifies things. And neither of you were bitten?”

“No,” said the woman. “But it was close.”

By the soft illumination from the line of candles on the floor, Angel could see that the three of them were standing in front of an elevator with a cage-style door, similar to the one that had led down to his apartment under the first Angel Investigations office. He could just barely make out the quick movement of a dark shape on the other side of the metal grid. Josephine was drawing a chalk circle on the floor in front of it.

“Do you want us to—” the man started to ask her, but then he paused. He and the other woman glanced at each other and then around the large open space, startled.

“What's that smell?” the woman said. She took a small step toward the dock door, and Angel crouched lower, counting on the darkness to help hide him. “You smell it?”

The man opened his mouth slightly, pulling in the scent. “It's...” His brow furrowed. “I don't...” He also took a step closer to the door. “It smells like... the mist that settles around a pine forest on winter mornings. Damn, I haven't smelled that in years.”

“Honeysuckle,” the woman murmured. “That honeysuckle vine on my grandma's farm when I was a kid.”

Huh? Angel glanced behind him warily, then sniffed the air, wondering what the hell these two were talking about. He wasn't picking up any pine mist or honeysuckle. There was just pavement and cardboard and modusbeast musk and the dusty smell of the inside of the warehouse and oh right they were talking about him. He ducked away from the door. Shit.

He moved quickly along the side of the warehouse and turned the corner. There was a closed dumpster near the side of the building, so he leaped onto the top of it and jumped up from there to scale the wall to the roof. This building was wider than it was tall, only three stories. From the roof, he went to look over the edge down at where the loading dock was, waiting to see if the two vampires came out. After a couple of minutes, he was satisfied that they weren't going to, so he began to look around for a way into the building from up here. That was _his_ modusbeast, and he wasn't leaving before he found out what Josephine wanted with it.

An old access hatch at one corner of the roof led down into the warehouse. Angel yanked sharply on the rusted padlock and managed to break it without too much noise or difficulty, and carefully lifted the lid. He didn't bother to extend the ladder down but dropped silently into the darkness onto a catwalk that ran the length of the building. From here, he could see the whole warehouse floor, stacks of wooden crates and forklifts parked in the dark and long shadowed shelves of shipping containers, and at the other end, the dim flickering light of candles with Josephine kneeling before them. He approached slowly, looking down for the other two vampires. The woman had wandered closer to the dock door but the man stood near Josephine, watching her. As he came closer, Angel could see that she was holding some kind of spear, carefully rubbing something onto the sharp end of it.

"Why'd you need us to catch it alive if you were just gonna kill it anyway?" the man asked her. Angel could hear him faintly from two floors overhead.

"I'm not _just_ going to kill it," Josephine said, examining the spear. Then she stood gracefully and toed off her shoes. They were flats, not the high heels from earlier, and she was dressed a little more casually now, a shorter skirt, a sleeveless top. Without shoes, her legs were totally bare from mid-thigh down. She walked toward the cage door of the lift where the modusbeast had been imprisoned and assumed a fighting stance with the spear in one hand, point angled low. Then, with perfect balance, she lifted a bare foot from the concrete and extended it toward the trapped demon. She wiggled her toes enticingly.

 _What_ _the hell_ _?_ Angel wondered, totally captivated by the bizarre display. Good way to lose some toes. Which was a shame really, given how attractive hers were.

Right on cue, as Angel predicted in his head, the demon's long scorpionesque tail whipped out through the woven metal of the door, the fanged mouth on the end aiming for Josephine's foot. But the bite didn't connect. Instead, more quickly than human eyes could have followed, Josephine snatched back her foot and stabbed downward with the spear, piercing the tail and pinning it to the floor inside her chalk circle. The modusbeast screeched in pain.

"Holy shit," said the man, taking a step back. Angel had to agree with him. He'd been on the receiving end of one of those bites when they took out the hive; these things struck fast and were incredibly vicious. He'd been prepared to see Josephine's dainty toes snapped right off, but the woman had some impressive reflexes.

“Come hold this,” she said, indicating the spear. “Don't let it move. The paralytic hasn't kicked in yet.”

The man took hold of the spear with both hands, but when Josephine let go, it wobbled. He cursed, putting more weight behind his grip. “Bugs shouldn't have muscles,” he said. “It ain't right. And what the hell is that smell, Jo? Not coming from this thing, is it?” He glanced at her, then back to the impaled tail with the spasming mouth on the end. “We don't – we don't fuck these, do we?” He looked at her again, wide-eyed. “ _Do_ we?”

“I wasn't planning to,” she said lightly. “But you can try later if you want.”

He peered through the door at the demon's body, considering. “Wouldn't even know how. That goddamn scent, though...”

“Ignore it,” she said.

Angel crouched on the catwalk above her, staring down intently as she picked up a long knife and knelt in the circle beside the modusbeast's pinned tail, which wasn't flopping around nearly as much now. If that minion could smell him, surely Josephine could too, and she must recognize his scent from before; she knew he was there. Whatever she was doing, she didn't mind that he could see it, which made it all the more intriguing. He watched as she used the knife to slice open the tail and pull back the edges of the cut, exposing the inner parts like some kind of evil autopsy.

Then she plunged her hand inside it. The man grimaced.

A long string of murmured words in a language Angel didn't recognize. He listened to her repeat it three times. Then the candle flames flickered and Josephine recoiled suddenly, her hand pulling free of the modusbeast's yellow innards with a squelching sound. She fell back on her butt inside the chalk circle, coughing.

“Jo?” said the man. “Jo, are you—?”

“I'm fine,” she managed, clearing her throat. She looked at her gooey hand and flexed her fingers a few times, then cast a smile up at the man's face. “You can fuck it now.”

“Think it's dead,” he said, pulling the spear free of the now unmoving tail.

She rose gracefully to her feet. “No, just paralyzed.” After taking the spear from him, she aimed carefully and then thrust the sharp point through an opening in the cage door, impaling some part of the demon that Angel couldn't see in the darkness. “There. Now it's dead.” The end of the spear continued to stick out of the elevator when she let go of it. “Why don't you two take the rest of the night off? Go have some fun.” She was speaking to the man but with a wave indicated the woman standing watch near the dock door as well.

“More fun than chasing a freaky ass demon through the city?” he asked.

“Come with us,” the woman said.

“I've got more business here,” replied Josephine. “Go on. But no killing tonight. Bodies aren't low-profile.”

The man nodded and the two vampires exited through the half-rolled up dock door, leaving Josephine alone and barefoot in the candlelight.

Angel almost followed them. A couple of quick slays, probably wouldn't give him much trouble even if they worked together. But that could wait. He wanted to see what Josephine's other business was.

She crossed to a warehouse safety station and washed the modusbeast guts from her hand as he watched. When she'd finished drying her hands, she returned to the chalk circle to put on her shoes. Without looking up, she said simply, “Hello, cousin.”

Okay, so he was the business. “Josephine,” he acknowledged, and stepped off the high catwalk. He dropped down to the top of a tall stack of wooden crates, then from there to the cement floor, and walked forward. “That was my modusbeast.”

“Don't tell me you wanted to fuck it, too?”

“I was going to stab it in the head,” he said, and peered into the elevator. Yep, definitely dead. “Looks like you beat me to it.”

She smiled a little. “You're welcome.”

“That wasn't a thank you.”

“Alright.” She sauntered a few steps closer to him – much closer than he expected – and paused inside his personal space. “So thank me, then.” Slowly, her fingers reached up to toy with one of the buttons on his shirt, tugging at it but not unbuttoning. When she looked up at his face, her green eyes seemed playful, but the pupils were already enlarged just from being near him, near the scent he was putting off.

For some reason, he didn't pull away. But he didn't touch her either, didn't slide his hand around the back of her neck under her long, dark hair, draw her close for a kiss the way he wanted to. He was another couple of hours at least from giving in to that impulse. Probably.

She smelled incredible, though.

“Tell me what you did,” he said. “With its tail. Before you killed it.”

“You sound suspicious, Angel.” She lifted a delicate eyebrow teasingly. “Don't you trust me?”

“You haven't given me a reason to.”

“We're family.”

“We're strangers,” he said. “If we weren't, you'd know how many members of my family I've killed.”

“I know how many I watched sucking your dick today.” She tilted her head, continuing to play idly with the button on his shirt. Her fingertips tickled his skin through the fabric. “I can still smell him on you.”

Oh. “That wasn't...” Angel didn't know why he felt the need to explain himself. “Spike is...”

“Your boyfriend?” Josephine guessed.

“No. He's a...”

“Prostitute?”

“What? No. He's... a special case.”

“Special how?”

“Well, he's my progeny. We're not, it's not like—”

“So he's special because he's,” she gave a firm little tug to his shirt, smiling, “family.”

“No. That kind of family doesn't mean anything to me anymore.” It wasn't difficult to look directly into her eyes as he lied. He'd told this one enough times that it almost felt true, and there was something about her eyes that made it very easy to look into them. “Spike's different because he's got a soul. Like me.”

“The soul, right. I was going to ask about that.” She let her hand drop and took a small step back from him, casting an appraising eye up and down his body as though she could actually see his soul if she looked carefully enough. “How attached are you to the whole...” she made a circular gesture in front of his chest, “having a soul thing?”

“Uh,” said Angel, frowning at her. “Pretty fucking attached, actually.”

She dismissed this with a wave. “Yes, I see that, but you would get rid of it if you could. Right?”

“No,” said Angel.

“Hypothetically, I mean. If it were possible.”

“No,” said Angel.

“You don't actually _like_ it, though,” she pressed, as if he just didn't understand what she was asking. “You'd want to go back to normal if that were an option. Be yourself again. Yes?”

“No. This _is_ myself, Josephine. Given the choice, I prefer it. I would never want to go back.” The skeptical look she was giving him made him even more suspicious of her than before. “Why are you asking me this?” He took a step toward her. “Did you do something to me?”

She held up her hands innocently. “I haven't touched your soul,” she promised. “To be perfectly honest, I don't even know how. I just thought I'd offer to help you find a way to be free of it.” She dropped her hands. “You murdered your sire and at least two of your progeny with that soul. When I read that it was a curse, I assumed you needed help. We don't dust our families unless something has gone _terribly_ wrong, Angel, and no amount of lying to me about it will convince either of us otherwise.”

He didn't know what to say to that. Darla's death – all of her deaths – still hurt on such a deep level that he could never bring his thoughts to linger there for long. “You read about me?” he asked quietly.

“Not such distant strangers after all, are we?” She took another step forward, bringing them quite close to each other again. “I am very, very interested in you, Angel.” Laying a hand on his chest, she tilted her head to inhale slowly near his neck. “Does that bother you?”

A tingle of excitement hummed through his skin. Josephine's body smelled faintly of coconut oil and silk. The scent of her arousal was intoxicating, but he could also sense that she hadn't had sex with anyone else in a long while. He inhaled near her neck as well, lips parting. “It hasn't gone terribly wrong yet,” he told her. That made her smile. Then he said, “I read about you, too.”

“Anything interesting?”

“You don't work for Wolfram and Hart.”

“No.”

“So you were just there because—?”

She chuckled softly, and he could feel her breath on his neck. “Can't blame a girl for stalking. Not everyone has a soul, you know. Some of us are actually evil.”

“You can still stalk with a soul.”

“Yes, I noticed. I'm flattered, by the way.”

“I didn't come here for you,” said Angel. “I was hunting modusbeasts. You just happened to be here.” It struck him that this was more or less exactly what he'd said to Spike the previous night, and since then he'd somehow managed to orgasm in Spike's mouth three times. Damn, what was it about hunting in LA that made your family appear out of nowhere and want to have sex?

“I would've let you kill it if you’d asked,” she said. Her hand slid down his chest. “But you probably would've had to fuck my friends first. They’re still quite young. They don’t have as much control as I do.”

Angel swallowed but didn’t otherwise move. He said, “It’s fine. I’ll kill the other one.”

She looked up sharply. “There’s another one?”

“See, why do I get the feeling you want to perform another ritual demon fisting?”

Maybe her smile did seem a tad evil, but she was still beautiful. “You and I don’t need a modusbeast for that, Angel.” Her other hand brushed lightly across his backside, and he took the opportunity to step back from her, clearing his throat quietly. She laughed.

“You still haven’t told me what you did to it.”

“No,” she agreed, tilting her head fondly at him. “But let’s talk about you. How are you feeling?”

“Feeling?”

“Are you well? Does anything seem amiss?”

“Amiss?”

She sighed patiently.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Why?”

“Your scent is quite potent. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, people keep saying that.” He frowned. “Not really getting less rude.”

“It’s not a bad thing.”

“I guess that depends on if you like the smell of music.”

She chuckled. “I think it’s different for all of us. We’re drawn to what it means, not how it smells. The smell is just a translation of the feeling when we don’t fully understand what’s at the heart of our desire.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “And the desire is… to have sex with me?”

Josephine bit her lip and looked down, amused but apparently trying not to offend him by laughing at this conclusion. “It’s,” she cleared her throat, “to form an alliance. Your demon self is presenting much more strongly than usual. Any vampire in your radius would have to be a fool not to partner with you, to share in your power. It’s an instinctive reaction to that scent you’re scattering about.” She paused thoughtfully. “But in fairness some of us would have wanted you anyway.” The way she looked at him, the heat in her eyes, made it clear that ‘some of us’ most definitely included Josephine herself.

“It doesn't stop, though,” Angel said. “Once I've... partnered with someone.” He thought of Spike's eyes, the wide, dark pupils, the way Angel's smell continued to affect him. “The desire is still there, afterward. Why would my scent keep drawing the same vampire after an alliance is made? How many times does it take?”

She tilted her head quizzically at him. “Just once is sufficient. You haven't done it yet.”

“What? Yes I have. How would you even know? I mean, you saw us!”

“That wasn't... Angel, one blowjob isn't an alliance.”

He crossed his arms. “Okay, so I'm asking how many blowjobs _are_ an alliance.”

“None! Or. I suppose, any amount. As long as you finish it properly.”

“Properly? What does that— because I did, you know, finish, so I don't know what you—”

A soft impatient noise. “We're _vampires_ , cousin. What do you think I mean?”

Angel's arms uncrossed themselves, realization dawning. “Oh.” That, he felt certain, was not something Spike would willingly submit to. They would just have to find some other way to navigate the hormone thing.

Josephine was watching his face. “It's intensely personal,” she said quietly. “But the resulting bond would satisfy that craving. And others of our kind would likely keep a more respectful distance once your scent wasn't so... pure.” She breathed in slowly. “It wouldn't make you less desirable, of course, but some would hesitate over the prospect of having to fight off another vampire for a place at your side.”

“How do you know all this?” Angel asked. “How do you know my demon is more present in the first place?”

“The scent gives you away,” she said. “But I've seen this kind of thing before. Atlanta, 1906. I was very young at the time, but you never forget your first angry mob. The violence of those few nights...” She smiled slyly, then shrugged. “It turned into a race riot, lots of dead humans. Should be interesting to see what happens here.”

“It won't be that.”

She shrugged again, dismissive. “Anyway, I'm sure you've noticed other signs.”

Angel immediately thought of attacking Lana and the janitor, of the way his sense of smell was so finely tuned, his insatiable desire for sex, his lack of control. Even the random burst of energy to scale a sheer five story wall was out of the ordinary. “No,” he said. “Nothing unusual.”

He suspected that Josephine didn't entirely believe this, but she just tilted her head and said, “Come with me.” She went toward the partially-opened dock door and ducked under it, and Angel had no real choice but to follow her outside, unsure where they were headed. Once in the truck loading area, she turned toward him but continued to walk backward, smiling a little. “Come on,” she said. “Come here.”

“Where are we going?”

“I'm making a point. Try not to ruin it, cousin. Come on.”

He quickened his walking pace to catch up to her, but she turned away from him and began to jog, so he increased his step again. When she glanced back to see him gaining, she grinned. “Catch me,” she said. And sprinted away.

 _What_ , Angel thought as he began to run after her, _the fuck?_

She'd darted down an alley in that creepily fast, silent way of moving that vampires have. He followed her quickly, but as he entered the alley, he just managed to see the blur of her foot disappearing around the corner. He charged in the same direction after her but again barely managed to catch sight of her body vanishing down another narrow road. Angel moved very fast, sure that he could easily shorten the distance between them, but this happened over and over, Josephine somehow evading him each time he thought he was close. She kept turning, leading him down countless damp alleys and wide streets and around so many buildings they all began to look the same. This was his city, but he very nearly lost track of where he was as he chased her block after block, around warehouses and fleets of shipping trucks in parking lots.

But her unique scent lingered on the breeze in the spaces she ran through, and even when he couldn't see her, he knew instinctively where she had gone. He could have followed her exact path with his eyes closed, his body weaving through the same molecules of air, which didn't have time to move before he slid between them in pursuit of her.

Eventually he pushed his fangs forward, and everything increased then, the smells around him, the hum of the night, even the quiet sound of Josephine's nearby footsteps as she ran. Those steps that had seemed silent before now whispered to him, vibrating up from the pavement to tell him where she was. Angel ran after her so fast that the running changed abruptly. It wasn't like running at all, as though he'd broken through some sort of barrier and was no longer consciously moving his legs but simply riding along while his legs moved themselves. He gained speed like an avalanche. He was steering a derailed train, guiding a bullet. This unexpected power was exhilarating.

He flew right past Josephine, of course. He saw her fall behind as if in slow motion, clearly noticing him pass but unable to keep up. He almost laughed. His feet took him another block down the road just for the fun of it, the novelty. He ran up the side of a wall and backflipped down, then raced in Josephine's direction again, slowing slightly on the approach. This time instead of passing her, he grabbed her by the waist and swung her around in a wide circle. It startled her somewhat, but they were both laughing softly when he set her back down.

“Did you see that?” he asked her, unable to help being impressed with himself. He looked down the street the way he had come, as if he could watch himself speed by. “I'm, like, _really_ fast.”

“You're incredible,” she breathed. Her smell was clearer to him now than before their run, more distinct from the other smells of the LA night. The sweetness of her coconut lotion, honey in her shampoo. Modusbeast guts and struck matches and silk. A little perspiration, adrenaline, and the very obvious scent of feminine arousal, the way her body was singing to him, the need to be taken.

His palms were still resting on the subtle flare of her hips. “Do you,” he asked, breathing her in, “want to... I don't know, go somewhere?” He wasn't sure what he was asking really, or where he thought they could go. He wasn't even technically sure where they were standing, what random dark alley this was.

“Yes,” she said softly. Looking up at him with those wide, dark pupils nestled in a thin band of green. But then she quickly took a step back from him, away from his touch. She put a hand up to shade her eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly. “Wait,” she murmured, “wait, I'm not...”

“What is it? What's wrong?” He reached for her again, but she stumbled backward and swallowed, turning away from him. He let his hands drop to his sides.

“Nothing... nothing's wrong.” Safely out of his reach, she breathed deeply before finally turning toward him again. “There's just something I wanted to talk to you about before we...” She smiled, tilting her head at him. “Don't look so concerned, cousin. You don't know how desirable you are. Resisting takes a certain amount of effort.”

He acknowledged this with a small nod. How difficult had it been for Spike to sit next to him on his bed earlier? The struggle hadn't seemed staggering, but then Spike was older than Josephine and had more experience with self-control. But whatever was happening to him seemed to be getting worse, fast. Her arousal already smelled more potent to him now than Spike's had earlier and it had only been about three hours since sunset.

God, he wanted her.

“Come with me,” she said. “We don't have to run; it's just here.”

Desire motivated Angel to follow. He fell into step beside her, trying to maintain a considerate distance so not to overwhelm her senses. There were humans nearby; he could smell them, could hear their voices, the music of a Saturday night in the city. When she led him into an area with bars and businesses still open and small groups of humans milling about, he stopped abruptly and retreated back into the shadows of the alley they'd just exited. “Josephine,” he said. “Wait a second. This isn't a good idea.”

“A drink is always a good idea,” she replied lightly.

“Not humans. I don't drink humans.”

She hesitated, then stepped back into the shadows with him. Quietly, she said, “And here I was craving a dirty martini. You don't drink humans at all? Ever?”

Lana. His teeth sinking into her flesh so easily, that hot gush into his mouth. He pushed the sudden thought away. “Not if I can help it. Killing people is wrong. I know that's hard to understand without a soul, but—”

“Killing?” she repeated, surprised. “Is that what you're worried about? You thought I was going to walk over there and drain a bunch of humans in public, maybe snap some necks?” The idea appeared to amuse her. “Don't get me wrong, cousin, I see the appeal. Really nothing like a few bloody murders when the mood strikes. But disposing of bodies is such a bore. I much prefer dining the old fashioned way.”

“The old fashioned way?” Angel tried to ignore the sounds of the humans going about their business, the savory smell of the blood streaming through their veins. It hadn't occurred to him to eat before he left his apartment and he was regretting that now.

She smiled her sly smile. “I always ask first. It's much more polite.”

It took Angel a moment to recognize the euphemism. “You're talking about thrall.”

“Can you do it? I know our dear Drusilla can – we had such fun in Rio last year – but they say it sometimes skips a generation. Her progeny can't manage it, but I've always suspected that's due to being a further generation removed from the source of our line, and of course you wouldn't have that trouble.”

His first thought was, _Thrall is a myth_. He almost said it. It's what he'd believed for two and a half centuries, even though he'd witnessed Dru using it on small children to make them play games with her. But Drusilla was special; it's why he'd chosen her to begin with. They never called what she could do by any particular name. To their little family, 'thrall' was a bedtime story, and since she never did it with any sort of consistency, it was easy to write off her gift as just some random quirk that was specific to her.

But then the Master did it to Buffy. And later he'd heard something about Dracula...

“No,” he said. “I can't do it. I don't know how.”

Josephine seemed vaguely disappointed. “When was the last time you tried?”

“Never. I don't have powers like that. I've never been psychic or—”

“Angel, you're a demon. A very strong one, especially right now.”

“So?”

She rolled her eyes. “So unless your highest ambition is to run for the roses without benefit of a horse, I suggest you take stock of the other abilities you may possess.” She took a step closer to him and reached out, almost laying her hand on his chest, but then she seemed to think better of it and let her hand drop. “I'll teach you,” she decided. A pause. “But not like that, of course.”

“Not like what?”

“Well, we can't have you scaring all the food away before we eat, can we?”

Angel squinted at her. “What?”

Her expression was patient. Fond, even. Gently, she told him, “Fangs away, darling.”

Oh. _Fangs away_ was one of the earliest lessons of becoming a vampire. Difficult to tell at first when your other face was showing; it felt natural after all, and lacking a reflection you nearly always relied on your sire for the reminder until you learned the difference. Darla had spent months telling him, over and over. _Fangs away, dear. There's my good boy_. The number of times he'd had to tell Drusilla. _Fangs away_ _now_ _, princess_. Hearing it here, from a vampire less than half his age, was something of a shock. They must have been out since the run. He hadn't even noticed.

Embarrassed, he pulled his other face back inside. The smell of the humans lessened slightly, their loud chatter becoming more subtle. His hunger was still there, tolerable now, but he knew there was no way he could trust himself to go near them.

Josephine gave his human features a tiny nod of approval and started to exit the alley again, but he reached out quickly and caught her by the elbow. She froze. Her skin was so soft in his hand. Even with his demon suppressed, the scent of her body was nearly irresistible.

“I'm not going to drink a human,” he told her quietly. “And I'm definitely not going to hypnotize one into thinking they want me to. Whatever you brought me here to talk about, do it now, Josephine.” His thumb slid back and forth slowly against her bare arm where he held her. “Otherwise, I think I'm done talking.”

Her eyes closed as she took a steadying breath. He could feel the tension in her arm, the effort not to move suddenly, either to run away or push closer to him. Eventually, she said, “You didn't know me.” Standing perfectly still, exactly the position she'd been in when he touched her. “Before today, you never knew I existed.”

“No,” he said.

“But I knew you. Angelus of Aurelius, Scourge of Europe, the great vampire cursed with a soul. You've had a soul since before I was turned; did you know that? My entire life, you've been... this.” Her eyes opened. Dark, dark depths in the green. Somehow, the way she looked at him seemed vulnerable, despite the obvious soullessness. “Our sires were his favorites.”

His. The Master's. “I know,” said Angel. “Darla, Luke, and—”

“Zachary.” She whispered the name. “They spoke of you sometimes. Darla missed you. No one would say what had happened, so I had to look it up in the Order's archives. I couldn't imagine a circumstance so grievous that it would sever the connection a vampire has with his sire but leave them both alive. I couldn't... I couldn't imagine a life separate from my own sire, my family. I couldn't imagine a century of loneliness, a life of solitude, like yours.” She searched his eyes. “Do you remember what it was like, Angel? Having a family?”

Of course he remembered. In his century of exile, it was all he'd thought about – that loss of closeness – never totally sure if he recalled every detail of that life so clearly because of how badly he missed it or because he was so desperate to forget. This was something he didn't think anyone else could fully understand: his family had been out there, and they wanted him, and he couldn't go to them. “I try not to think about it,” he said evenly, no hint of emotion in the answer.

And in the same even tone, Josephine replied, “You killed my family.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to deny it. Technically, Buffy had killed Zachary. She'd also killed Luke, the Master, Absalom, and most of the other Aurelians who had died in Sunnydale. But he knew what Josephine meant. He was there. He helped. He would have done it if the slayer hadn't. He would have done it _for_ her, the same way he killed his own sire, and aside from her, he wasn't even sorry they were dead. But he understood the heartbreak. The loneliness. He let his fingers drop from Josephine's arm. “Is that why you're here?” he asked her. “For revenge?”

Her voice was quiet. “No, cousin. I don't want revenge.” She took a step toward him and reached up, let her fingertips trace along the edge of his jaw. Her eyes fell closed again as she leaned closer to inhale near his neck. “What I want,” she murmured, “is to have a family again.”

That's when he kissed her. He couldn't help it; he'd been thinking about it all night, about putting his fingers through her hair, drawing her close, tasting her pouty lips. He did it now, kissing her soft mouth slowly open, licking into it while he slid his palm around the side of her neck, his fingers weaving into her thick dark hair to hold her still. His other hand caught her hip. This was... good. It was good, right? Josephine was family. She wasn't too evil; she barely even killed people. She just wanted to be close, to feel like she belonged somewhere again, and hey, doesn't everyone deserve that chance?

She kissed him back, melting into his arms in a way that was unexpected given how strong she was, but also welcome given how much he wanted to have her, to take her body in an entirely uncomplicated manner, without the worry that she might have regrets later. This was easy. This was simple. This was her delicate hand moving between them to rub at his stiffened cock through his pants, and this was him turning their bodies, pressing her back against the brick wall at this side of the alley as they kissed. The smell of her filled his head. He needed to take her right now, needed it like the darkness all creatures of the night depend on.

The hand that had been on her hip slipped between her legs, pushing under her short skirt. She gasped into his mouth as he touched her through the damp silk of her panties. “Is this okay?” he whispered, but she was already saying, “Yes, yes...” Her hands unbuttoning his trousers, unzipping them, reaching inside to wrap cool around his hard length and squeeze.

He kissed her urgently, that fog starting to seep into his brain again, settling there like mist to obscure his conscious thoughts. This was almost like the running, like not doing it at all but just riding along pleasantly while it happened, feeling everything. His fingers tugging the soaked scrap of cloth to the side, gliding through the slick valley he uncovered. She shivered against him, moaning softly.

“Angel, do it.” Her breath puffing against his kiss-wet lips. “I want you to.” And then she tilted her head, his other hand still buried in her hair, and offered him her neck.

He stared at it. Breathing. The weight of her head in one hand, the welcoming cleft of her sex in the other, her fist tight around his erection. That tingle at the back of his neck. _Family_. His mouth fell forward to her smooth skin in a kiss, lips to jugular. God, she smelled like something he wanted to rip into and make his. He licked at the side of her throat, sucked color into the paleness. _Intensely personal_ , she had said. _But the resulting bond_...

“Come on,” she whispered to him. “I want it. Please.” Squeezing his cock so tight in her hand, reaching up with the other to press the back of his head closer to her. That tingle so strong, much stronger than before. Almost as if... “Please, Angel.”

Yeah, he was going to do it. He was going to sink into her, his cock into her body and his fangs into her neck, and it was going to feel incredible for them both. His demon face came forward again without even pushing, teeth dropping down to dagger points. Oh fuck, the way she smelled right now, the feel of her soft skin to his lips... The quiet vibration of vampire footsteps racing toward them. Someone shouting. What—?

“Hurry,” she insisted. “Now, do it now!”

But just as the tips of his fangs scraped gently against her perfect throat, Angel felt himself wrenched backward, an angry male voice swearing repeatedly at him. A shrill sound of female outrage, and Josephine's incredibly tight grip on his cock being yanked away, which hurt, but it hurt funny, almost like he'd like to feel it happen again, and then the overwhelmingly familiar scent of Spike caught up to his senses as he stumbled and landed on his ass on the ground, still being cursed at. A weird jerk of his clothes against him, and he was being hauled down the alley, dragged through the grime by the collar of his long black coat.

“—n't bloody keep it in those stupid sodding swish Armani trousers for three bleeding hours you fucking pig-headed undead tosspot!” The long string of insults seemed to end there as Angel was shoved aggressively another few feet and skidded to a stop in the middle of the alley, still on his ass, reeling from what had just happened. “Now stay!” Spike whirled around and started marching back toward Josephine. “Oi, you!” Crunch of changing features as he advanced on her. “Should've just said you had a death wish, pet. We could've settled this at the office.”

Josephine's fangs descended too as she stood her ground near the entrance to the alley, facing Spike. “Hello, cousin,” she growled quietly, hands clenched into fists. “You're interrupting the grown-ups.”

This... wasn't good. Angel tried to make himself concentrate, hands fumbling to fasten his pants. He took a deep breath of the night, the sharp smells of the city around him. Spike and Josephine's scents filled the alley, but beyond that was the tang of gasoline, the sick sweet smell of a nearby dumpster. He got to his feet.

“You barged in on us first and I'm older than you, you daft cow.”

“Two generations removed. Don't you know progeny should be seen and not heard?”

Spike took the first swing but Josephine dodged neatly around him and tried to sweep his legs. He jumped the attempt and threw another punch, which she blocked, and then she narrowly avoided a spin-kick and tried to knee him in the groin, which _he_ blocked. Spike was slightly stronger and more aggressive than her, but Josephine was slightly faster and more flexible. They fought each other quickly and fiercely, dodging and blocking blow after blow, neither managing to gain the upper hand and both growing increasingly furious about it.

“What's the matter, luv?” Spike grunted, catching Josephine's fist in his hand and twisting out of the way. “A moment ago you were begging for a bit of rough. Change your mind, did you?”

“Your pathetic cries for attention turned me off.” She ducked his next swing and shoved away a foot that would have broken her knee if it had connected. “Didn't your sire teach you any goddamn manners?” In a quick strike of luck, she finally dealt a damaging kick that caught Spike behind the knee and made him lose his balance, but he grabbed her on the way down, and when they stopped rolling Spike was on top, snarling down into her face. The intimidation didn't work on Josephine the way it had on that young vampire at work. Josephine snarled right back into Spike's face and tried to head-butt him.

The sight of two well-matched gorgeous vampires fighting over him was so arousing to Angel that he almost let it continue. Neither had weapons so they were unlikely to kill each other like this, anyway. But they were also both cunning and vicious, and he wouldn't put it past either of them to rip the other's head clean off if given the smallest opportunity. Not worth the risk. Angel forced himself to march over and grab Spike from behind. With some effort, he picked him up and hauled him backward off Josephine, who scrambled to her feet and completely ignored Angel in favor of slapping Spike hard across the face while Angel held him. “Hey!” Angel shouted, and quickly turned Spike to the side so his boot wouldn't connect with her stomach as he kicked out, attempting to use Angel as a springboard, swearing again. “Stop it! Both of you!”

He threw Spike unceremoniously against the alley wall and turned toward Josephine. Without thinking, Angel dropped his mouth open wide, fangs extended, and let out what was meant to be a warning snarl. What actually emerged was a deep, fierce roar, more powerful than any of them had ever heard. That rumbling boom sent Josephine staggering several steps back, until she cowered against the other side of the alley, golden eyes wide with shock. Her demon face withdrew quickly as she turned her head in immediate submission.

Once his startling roar tapered off, Angel took a slow, steadying breath in. Okay. That was different. He heard Spike getting to his feet behind him, but without turning he put out one hand, signaling him to come no closer. “Josephine,” Angel said, looking at her big green eyes. She still smelled incredible to him, but their moment had been lost. “Leave. Now.”

“I still want you,” she said softly. “I'll want you even if it means fighting for you.”

“Now,” repeated Angel. “Don't make me say it again.”

She nodded once. Then, with a last, lingering look at him, Josephine turned and walked toward the tinny music of the nearby bars and chattering humans. Within moments, her graceful figure had melted away into the thriving LA night.

*


	7. Like Two Rainbows Fucking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How long d'you think we can keep this up, then?"

*

“Yeah, that's right! Off you fuck!” Spike was shouting toward the alleyway exit where Josephine had disappeared. “They'd chew your neck on 8th for a tenner – BUT YOU HAVE TO BE GOOD-LOOKING!”

His features shifted back to human as he returned down the alley toward Angel, scowling but apparently satisfied that he'd had the last word. The crunch sound reminded Angel to pull his fangs inside as well, and he reached up briefly to touch his forehead and make sure the ridges were gone. It was a habit he'd dropped centuries ago. “She's beautiful,” he said quietly. “And you know it.”

“Face like a slapped arse.” Spike produced a pack of cigarettes and his lighter from his duster pocket and busied himself lighting one. “Three more seconds, I'd've had her head off.” He took a long drag and then removed his cigarette with two fingers and blew the smoke at Angel. Squinting through the haze, he said, “This what we do now? Take turns snatching each other off bints in alleys?”

“It was the right call.”

“Me snatching you or you snatching me?”

“Both. Are you alright?”

Spike glanced at the wall. “Might've dented the bricks.”

“She didn't hurt you?”

“Please. I've had foreplay more violent.” If this comment was meant to bait Angel, it didn't work. Spike took another pull from the cigarette and then asked him gruffly, “What about you, then?”

“Me?” Angel hadn't moved at all, standing completely still in the middle of the alley. That weird muzziness had yet to clear from his brain, and his thoughts were distracting and scattered. In truth, he felt a little bit lost. The things Josephine had told him about what was happening to him made a kind of sense, but now he had more questions than answers. And he _really_ wanted Spike, wanted to take him hard and fast against the wall he'd thrown him into, but he couldn't tell if it was more because Spike's strong scent of arousal was getting to him or because he'd been stopped with Josephine and was still turned on from that, or if he just desperately needed a way to clear his head. His limbs felt light and restless, like he should be doing something – fighting or fucking or running or _anything_ – but he also felt like if he moved at all, his body might just float away without him. If there had been something attached to the ground in front of him, he would have reached for it to hold on.

“I'm fine,” he said softly.

“Are you? 'Cause you smell like you've rolled around in two metric fucktons of vampire catnip.”

“Didn't mean to.” He watched Spike smoke. His hands looked a little unsteady.

“Also seem to have swallowed a whole living tiger since we last spoke,” Spike added. “But I guess we're not mentioning that.”

“How'd you find me?”

“Followed my nose, didn't I? Forget breadcrumbs, you were leaving whole bakers behind. Easiest tracking I've ever done.” He blew more smoke in Angel's direction. “Good job touring the city, by the way. Been meaning to get in some cardio.”

Angel said nothing but nodded slightly.

“So. Kill anyone?” Spike asked.

Angel shook his head.

“Good.” Spike smoked silently for a moment, watching him. Then, “Angel.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you need me to—?”

“Yeah.” Angel closed his eyes, still not moving. “Sorry.”

Spike nodded, then took a last long drag from his cigarette and dropped it to the ground, stepped on it as he exhaled the smoke. “Can you make it back to your place or are we putting on another sordid peep show?”

“Sorry,” Angel said again. “You don't have to. I can do it.”

“My responsibility,” said Spike.

“It's really not.”

“You're forgetting.” He came forward slowly and reached for the lapel of Angel's coat. Sliding his fingers down the edge of it, he leaned close to Angel's ear and murmured, “We're in my half.”

They were kissing before Angel's conscious mind could even sort out what he'd said. Spike tasted strongly of cigarettes, but there was something else... Angel couldn't quite place it. Something vaguely sweet and warm, a feeling like the faint burn of swallowed whiskey on its way down. He put a hand up to Spike's face, held the angle of his jaw, and concentrated on not completely devouring his lips. He needed those lips, needed to treat them gently so they wouldn't be damaged.

His body still felt light, but this kiss was heavy enough to anchor him to the ground. He pushed Spike backward, walked him slowly to the side of the alley and pressed him to the wall. There was something about having someone backed against a wall, something about the inevitability of it, the way they were cornered there, nowhere to run. That must be why he kept doing it. Breaking their kiss, Angel whispered, “You smell good,” and then licked softly into Spike's mouth again. His palm slid down Spike's neck, edging under the leather of his duster.

Spike's hands had pushed underneath Angel's coat as well, circling around his back, pulling him close. Angel inhaled him, that sweet burning smell, and imagined drowning in his skin, imagined being held down by it, pinned to the earth under Spike's body. He let his hands roam down the soft cotton of his own t-shirt worn under Spike's coat, then pushed them up beneath the edge of it, palms flat to his flesh, fingers grasping, holding him still. Spike made a soft sound against his mouth, trying to pull Angel closer, sucking at his lips.

Angel's insides were a storm of conflicting sensations, the hazy fog that seemed to isolate part of his brain and shut it off, and the tactile feeling of his fingertips gripping Spike's smooth body, the overwhelming scent of him, the passion of their kiss. There was an urgency in his blood that made him hard, made him want to take and possess and force, but he fought it down with the determination to be gentle, considerate of this favor given freely. He moved his mouth down, pressed a kiss to Spike's throat, trailed his lips over the pale skin of his neck. One hand slid down to cover the bulge at the front of Spike's jeans. He let his palm grind against it.

He could feel Spike swallow, the bob of his adam's apple against his lips. “You were going to bite her,” Spike said, slowly rubbing his cheek against the side of Angel's head, the softness of his hair.

“Yeah,” Angel murmured into his skin.

“Is that... what you need?”

The question, the quiet implication of it, sent a static charge skittering down Angel's backbone. Without even meaning to, he immediately scraped his teeth against that place, but then he licked soothingly over it. “I wouldn't...” He forced himself to let Spike's neck go and instead trailed his nose up to Spike's ear, silently breathing him in. “I wouldn't ask you to let me.”

Spike's head inclined in a tiny nod. Angel could feel the throb of Spike's cock against his hand where he cupped it. “What would you ask me for, then?” Spike said quietly.

“Your mouth.” Angel put his other hand up to Spike's cheek again and turned his head, kissed him, tugged gently at his bottom lip with careful teeth. Then he pulled back and ran the pad of his thumb slickly across that pink pout. “I want your mouth again.” He pressed his thumb just past Spike's lips, watched the tip go in. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Spike breathed. “That's okay.” Flick of tongue against his thumb, breath cooling over it.

“Do you want to?” Angel nuzzled Spike's cheek. “Say you want to.”

“I don't mind.”

“Spike.”

Sighing, “Yeah. I want to. Christ, I actually do.”

Face still pressed to Spike's cheek, Angel reached down between their bodies and unfastened his pants. His cock was already hard and eager, foreskin drawn back. He took Spike's hand and put it there, squeezed his fingers around it. Spike's thumb swiped over the naked head and Angel shivered, made a small helpless sound. Spike kissed him again and stroked his dick firmly, tight in the cool channel of his fist.

For a moment, held like this in Spike's stroking hand, pinning him to the wall with a kiss, Angel almost couldn't decide where he wanted Spike's mouth after all – here against his own mouth, lips moving insistently against lips as if trying to tell each other something complicated and important, or down low, wrapped around his cock. But before he could choose, Spike slid suddenly down to his knees and sucked him in, and Angel gasped, almost falling forward against the wall without Spike's kiss to hold him up.

“Fuck,” he groaned softly, one hand immediately landing on the bleached hair, fingertips sifting through the thick strands. His other arm balanced against the bricks, and he leaned forward and rested his forehead against his arm there, sliding his hand to the back of Spike's head, into the small space between his head and the wall so he wouldn't hurt himself as he bobbed on Angel's cock. Soft, wet slide in and out. Angel squeezed his eyes closed, breathing. God, yes. This was exactly what he needed.

“Spike, suck it,” he whispered. “Suck... hard.” The pressure inside that perfect mouth increased immediately and Angel's fist clenched on the wall, his lips falling open around a low moan. He shifted his feet apart and thrust forward, holding Spike's head in place. He began to fuck his mouth gently, short thrusts, trying not to gag him. Spike's hand still gripped him at the root, but his other hand clutched Angel's hip under his coat, guiding him forward and back. The coat hung down around them both, the open sides swaying with these measured movements, totally concealing what was happening underneath.

It was never going to last very long. He was too ready, too aroused to hold back, and Spike's mouth was too much, too wet and willing, the tip of his curious tongue digging too relentlessly into the leaking slit dividing Angel's cockhead like a peach. “That's—” Angel managed, his voice tight. “Spike, I can't— I'm going to—”

The pressure around him increased again as Spike sucked hard. Angel cried out, his entire body going tense and still, then shuddering as his orgasm forced itself powerfully into Spike's mouth. He held Spike's head as he came, the intense pleasure tumbling out of him in heavy spurts, and Spike's throat worked over and over, swallowing it down.

Angel breathed raggedly as the last of it spilled over that softly swishing tongue. He felt wrung out, emptied, but the haze in his mind began to dissipate. Now a kind of glow was spreading through his limbs, a satisfaction he'd been missing, a balance restored. It was like he'd become more solid on the ground, almost his normal self again.

He sighed, letting his fingers card through Spike's hair, scratching affectionately at his scalp. Spike's mouth had relaxed to a gentle, pleasant sucking that Angel couldn't quite bring himself to put a stop to. “That's nice,” he murmured, slowly dragging his fingertips up through Spike's hair, ruffling it in the wrong direction. He smoothed it back down and then ruffled it again.

Eventually, Spike began to pull back from Angel, letting his cock slide slowly out of his mouth. Angel stood up straighter and dropped his arm from the wall so Spike would have room to stand. But he didn't take his hand from Spike's hair, and when the blond was back on his feet, Angel used that hand to draw him forward for another kiss. Spike's lips were a little puffy from friction, wet and pink. Shit, that was hot. Angel kissed him languidly, savoring every corner and crevice of his mouth, chasing the taste of himself. The kiss was so thorough that when they finally broke apart, Spike had to take a deep, steadying breath. He was trembling.

“You okay?” Angel asked him, settling his hands on Spike's shoulders. “Spike, you're shaking.”

Spike shook his head dismissively. “I'm fine. It's nothing.” But then he pulled away, stumbled a few steps to one side of Angel, took another shaky breath in.

“You don't look fine.”

“Just need a moment, that's all.” He dug his cigarettes out of his pocket again.

Angel fastened his pants hesitantly. “You know those things will kill you.”

“Only if I do it very wrong.” He got one out and reached for his lighter.

“Hey.” Angel came forward and put his hand on top of Spike's, stopping the struggle to get a flame going. The scent radiating from Spike's body was so strong it almost felt like a liquid Angel could swim in, like if he trailed his hand through the air, he would see currents in it. “Tell me.”

Spike shrugged, not looking at him. But when Angel reached out and tipped Spike's face toward him, his eyes were helpless, desperate, pupils huge and black, almost no blue in them at all. Angel's breath caught.

“This is because of me,” he said. “What can I do?”

“Nothing,” Spike insisted. “It's fine, Angel. Leave it.” He pulled away and started to walk off, shoulders tense.

For a few seconds, Angel watched him go. It was difficult to sift through Spike sometimes, to sort out what he meant and what he only said when he thought it was what you wanted to hear, what he only said because he wanted to see your reaction, what he said to get what he wanted or to cover for insecurities or to avoid saying something else entirely. Normally Angel could either tell the difference immediately or find it all easy enough to ignore. But none of this was normal or easy for either of them, and watching Spike walk away didn't feel like the right move this time.

Before he could examine it much further than that, Angel did a comfortably vampiric thing and grabbed Spike suddenly from behind, silently dragging him back into the deepest shadows of the alley.

“Angel, what the fu—!”

“I'm not done with you yet,” Angel told him, voice low and soft in Spike's ear. He had one arm wrapped tightly around Spike's chest to keep him from squirming away. His other hand wandered down the front of Spike's torso, palm sliding flat against tensed muscles. “You think I don't want you,” he murmured. “You think I would fuck your mouth against a wall and then just let you walk away...” Angel's hand came to a stop over the erection pushing at the front of Spike's jeans, and he gave it a squeeze, “...like this.”

“Wouldn't be the first time today,” Spike gritted out. “But it wasn't a comment on your generosity.” He tried to wrench away but was held too securely in Angel's arms. “Maybe this is me protecting _your_ feelings.”

Holding him one-handed, Angel tugged open the button on Spike's jeans. He inhaled beside Spike's neck, that intriguing sweet burn, and pulled down his zipper. “Maybe my feelings aren't what you think,” he said, reaching inside the jeans to close his fist around Spike's impossibly hard cock. Spike exhaled sharply and tried to pull away again, but the attempt was much less forceful this time. He reached up to grip Angel's arm with both hands. Angel could feel Spike's body still trembling against him, and he pressed his lips tenderly to the side of his neck. “Will you let me do this?” he whispered into the smooth skin, giving Spike's cock a single tight stroke. “Spike, let me do this for you.”

A strained pause. Then, faintly, Spike said, “Say you want to.”

Maybe it was easier for him to say this into Spike's neck, bodies pressed so tightly together, Spike's erect penis held snug in his closed hand, neither having to look into the other's eyes. But maybe it would have been easy for Angel to say it anyway. It was true, after all, and he'd been invited. “I want to,” Angel said quietly. He let his fingers slide up and then back down the rigid shaft and felt Spike finally relax back against him with a sigh.

There it was again, that dumb little bloom of warmth in his chest, a fondness for this unnecessarily complicated vampire. He kissed Spike just below his cold earlobe.

“I want to make you come,” Angel whispered to him, still holding him tight, immobilized against his body. He began to stroke his cock firmly, these slow, intense pulls, skin moving along with his hand. Spike breathed fast but silently, his hands both squeezing Angel's arm where he held him. “I keep thinking about it. About you,” Angel told him. “I know I keep saying no, but all day I've been thinking about what it would be like. Having you. Fucking you.”

“Yeah?” Spike asked, pressing back into Angel's body. Angel could picture the self-satisfaction on his face, even without seeing it. “All day?”

“When you threw that fledge over the table during our meeting—”

“The fledge you nearly shagged, you mean? That fledge?”

“I nearly shagged _you_ ,” Angel told him. “Right there in front of everyone. All I could fucking think about.” He let his palm twist over Spike's cockhead and tightened his fist on the downstroke.

Spike cursed softly. He squirmed, but not like he was trying to get away. His hips stuttered forward, thrusting toward Angel's fist. The motion caused his backside to bump against Angel's groin in a pleasant way. “Yeah,” Angel sighed into Spike's neck with a small grin. “Wiggle for me.”

A laugh erupted from Spike, his body vibrating in Angel's arms. “Bloody pervert,” he said breathlessly. “Bet you say that to all the girls.” Angel smiled and bit Spike's ear gently, his hand speeding up. “Oh... fucking hell,” Spike groaned.

Reaching around Spike like this was almost like jerking his own cock, and he'd had extensive practice at that, knew exactly the right pressure and speed to use. He massaged Spike's stiff dick skillfully, fingers squeezing over the sensitive, swollen head, spreading the slickness that leaked from the slit. Spike's upper half melted back against him, head tipping back onto Angel's shoulder, eyes closed, lip bitten. His lower half remained tense, randomly trying to fuck forward into Angel's hand. Angel dragged Spike's foreskin up over his cockhead and pinched it closed just past the tip, rubbing the skin against itself between his fingers, and Spike gasped, his head coming off Angel's shoulder so he could look down. “Christ, Angel,” he breathed.

“Have I told you how good you smell?” Angel murmured, trailing his nose down Spike's neck. He went back to the quick, tight strokes, slippery in his fist. “Goddamn it, Spike, I really could eat you.”

Another shift against him, deliberate. “Right now,” Spike answered huskily, “I could almost let you.”

Angel raked his teeth across Spike's flesh, hard but not breaking the skin, and felt a tiny tremor run through the younger vampire. He thought about doing it, sinking his fangs right in, drinking Spike down like the whiskey he smelled of.

“I'm... close,” Spike whispered, breathing ragged. He was squirming again, but slowly. “Angel, can I... in your mouth?”

Jesus Christ. A new spark of arousal flared through Angel's belly. “You wanna come in my mouth?” he asked, stroking fast.

“Yeah,” Spike said. “Let me. I'm almost—”

He'd wanted to feel Spike's body shudder against his when he came, but this was a good idea, too. In one swift movement, Angel released the hold he had on Spike's chest and dropped to his knees in the dark of the alley, grabbing Spike's hips to turn him. Almost before he was ready for the sensation of it, the wet pink head of Spike's cock was in his mouth, the instant salt and tang flavor bursting across his tongue. He barely had time to suck before Spike was crying out, coming hard, unloading shot after quick shot that hit the back of Angel's throat with more force than he expected.

He swallowed reflexively, Spike's hands suddenly in his hair, holding him there with enough restraint not to yank his head down but enough strength to make backing away impossible. Angel continued to suck and stroke him through it as Spike shuddered, hanging onto him as though he might otherwise fall. He was practically folded forward over Angel's head, swearing as the last of his orgasm dribbled out to collect on Angel's tongue, milked from his overstimulated cock by the squeezing pumps of Angel's fist. Angel swallowed again.

Spike was panting when he finally straightened and eased his hold on Angel's head. He left his fingers there though, carding them through the dark hair as Angel let the swollen cockhead slip out of his mouth. He swiped his tongue over it a few more times, softly licking away all traces of spend, while Spike's breathing slowed and he watched through hooded eyes. Angel looked up at his face and took the whole plum of the head in his mouth again to give it one final light suck, and Spike's eyelids fluttered at the feeling, lips parted.

“There,” Angel finally said, pulling back. He tucked Spike's dick back into his jeans and patted it. But then Spike's hand slid down to his jaw and tilted his head up. He was doing that thing again, looking at Angel as if he'd never seen him before, grinning, eyes curious and pleased. “What?” said Angel. He got to his feet, brushed the dirt off his knees, and again had his face tilted up by Spike's hand.

“Nothing,” Spike said, still smiling. “I've always—” But he hesitated, and instead of finishing the sentence, he kissed Angel quickly on the mouth and then took a couple of steps away to button his jeans and dig his cigarettes out of his duster pocket again.

“You've always what?” He watched Spike light up. It had looked like the next word started with W. Always wondered? Always wanted? Always... worn black?

Spike blew his smoke at Angel, his expression slipping back to the more bored, condescending one that Angel was used to seeing. "Always known you fancied me. Poof."

Angel rolled his eyes. He could still taste Spike's cum in his mouth, feel the slide of it down his throat. It was different from drinking blood, very different, but somehow not as different as he'd thought. It had been so long. He wondered briefly if it were possible for a vampire to survive on cum instead of blood, and he turned away from Spike quickly, waving the smoke from his face like it bothered him.

Wandering a few feet further along the alley, Angel found a place to sit down on the cool pavement, leaned back against the bricks with a sigh. The smell of earth and mildew down close to the ground like this had a soothing effect on his general restlessness.

Spike followed slowly, stopped beside him and leaned his shoulder on the wall as he smoked. "That helped," he said. "If you were wondering." His pupils were still dilated, but maybe not as much as they had been, and he wasn't shaking anymore.

"Good," Angel said.

"This helps, too." Spike regarded his cigarette thoughtfully. "Covers up your smell, like. Not completely. But enough." He took another drag and held it. On the exhale, he said, "How long d'you think we can keep this up, then?"

"It's only been a day," said Angel. He pulled his knees up and rested his elbows on them.

"Bloody hell. Feels like longer."

"Yeah. It does."

"Think your crack team's got any ideas yet?"

"I don't know. There's not really much to go on. Not many vampires have allowed themselves to be studied, you know? It's hard to find information on, like, hormones and biology and stuff."

“You'd think we'd know more about it, being what we are and all.” Spike stooped down and settled himself onto the ground beside Angel, back to the wall, one knee up and the other leg stretched out. "I knew a guy, couple of decades ago," he said. "Got himself captured by a group of Watchers. They tied him up and gave him handjobs all day." Spike snorted. "Picture that. Molested by the bloody Council. Said they were doing some kind of biological study and whatnot, but come on. Wanking vampires in chains? Clearly just acting out depraved fantasies." He tapped his ash on the ground. "Still, maybe they learned something."

"They didn't finish the study," said Angel. "He turned them."

"What, he turned the Watchers? Watcher vampires?" He tilted his head. “Watchpires?”

"Yeah. Three of them."

"Huh." He puffed his cigarette again, then nodded. "Makes sense. What I would've done."

"Me too." They sat quietly for a moment. Then Angel asked, "You didn't blow up my apartment, did you?"

Spike chuckled.

"Just tell me you didn't."

"Okay. I didn't."

"Did you?"

"Nah. Should've done. Your record collection is shit. Would've been doing the world a favor."

“How'd you get out?”

“Called Gunn.”

“Oh.” Angel nodded. “Good. That's good. I wasn't sure you had anyone's number but mine.”

“Didn't. Lucky for me, you've a book that can be anything if you ask it nice enough.”

“Smart.”

“Now and then.” Spike smoked some more. Then, squinting down at the lit tip of his cigarette, he said, “I'm still thinking about shagging you.”

“Yeah,” said Angel, looking straight ahead at the opposite alley wall. “So am I.”

“What d'you make of that?”

“I don't know, Spike. I don't know what to do about it.”

Spike nodded slowly. “It was... difficult,” he said. “Being away from you. But being close and not actually... Can hardly tell anymore if it's better or worse.” He rubbed a hand over his face, sighing. “Not sure how much of this I can take.”

Angel thought about what Josephine had said, the way to silence the urge, make an alliance. _We're vampires, cousin._ But who knew if she'd even been telling the truth? He couldn't suggest doing that to Spike just to make him less horny when this whole thing could be over in a few days anyway. “Well,” he said. “At least we know why it's happening.”

“Thought that was the thing we _didn't_ know.”

“Okay, maybe not why exactly, but we know what's causing it.”

“'Cept that's another thing we actually don't know, innit?”

Angel sighed. “Fine. We don't know anything. Except that you want to have lots of sex with me, and I want to have lots of sex with... everyone.”

Spike turned toward Angel and arched an eyebrow. “Did I say lots? Maybe I just want to one time. Wouldn't be surprised if it put me off.”

Angel looked at him evenly. “It wouldn't put you off, Spike.”

Spike hesitated, meeting Angel's eyes with his deeply black pupils, then huffed and looked away again. “Store your ego in that forehead?” He quickly put his cigarette back up to his lips.

For some reason, seeing Spike a little unsure of himself made Angel want to reach toward him. He didn't do it, of course. It occurred to him that Spike had never answered his question from earlier, whether he felt something between them or not. A few times it had seemed like he might, but there was really no way to know for certain. Not as long as Angel was attracting him by accident with his smell.

“What self-respecting person only has two Bruce Springsteen albums, anyway?” Spike muttered. “It's criminal.”

Angel smiled a little. “Most of my records got blown up a few years ago. I'm still replacing them. You like Springsteen?”

“Everyone likes Springsteen. Man's a bloody genius.”

“He's a poet,” Angel agreed.

Spike took a last drag from his cigarette and then flicked the butt away. “Alright, best Springsteen song, count of three. One. Two. Three.”

“The River,” Angel said, just as Spike was saying, “Thunder Road.” They looked at each other. Angel wanted to disagree, but as he thought about it, he realized he didn't really.

“You make a compelling argument,” he eventually said.

“So do you. Almost said that one.”

“All of his songs are good, really.”

“Bloody genius,” said Spike again.

“Maybe it's something to do with the modusbeasts,” Angel offered suddenly. “I didn't start noticing anything weird until we took out that hive on Monday.”

“Right around the time you started smelling like warm hugs.”

“Hugs?” Angel raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Thought it was some poncey new cologne.”

“I saw Josephine do some kind of spell on a modusbeast tonight.”

“She talk it into biting her?” Spike scowled. “That being her M.O., apparently.”

“Careful there,” Angel said quietly. “If I didn't know you better, I'd think you were jealous.”

“You _don't_ know me better,” Spike said, but then frowned when he realized how that sounded. “Where'd she get a modusbeast anyhow? Thought you killed them all.”

“Couple of them got away. Probably wouldn't have if we'd had some extra hands.” Angel gave him a pointed look.

“Told you I was busy. It's a big city, Angel. More than one evil thing happening at once.”

“Sure. So what evil thing did you stop on Monday night?”

Spike opened his mouth to answer, but then shut it again. He looked down, finding some invisible thing to scratch off the knee of his jeans. Was he... pouting?

“Oh, good,” said Angel. “So you didn't help with the modusbeast hive _and_ you didn't stop whatever evil thing kept you from helping.”

“Well I'm still bloody working on it, aren't I! In fact, I'd be there right now if _you_ hadn't decided to spend all weekend as a high-functioning testicle.”

Angel gave him a little nod. “You're still thinking about fucking me.”

“Damn right!” Spike got to his feet irritably and walked further down the alley. The scent of him lingered in the air beside Angel. That subtle sweet-hot smell was different from the normal smell of Spike's arousal, and even though the difference was minute, for some reason Angel found it incredibly captivating.

After a moment, he stood as well. “Take me there,” he said to Spike's back. “To the evil thing you're working on. I want to help you.”

*

“Not sure how many,” Spike said, peering down into the alley at the sub-level entrance to the building across from them. They were standing on a rooftop several streets over from where they'd last seen Josephine, not far from the place where Angel staked the vampire Spike had been fighting before they went to La-La Land. “Been picking them off one at a time, but it's a big nest. Think they're making more every time I dust one. Maintaining the numbers, you know?” He glanced over at Angel and rolled his eyes impatiently. “Mate, you even listening?”

Angel was squinting at his phone. “Yeah,” he said. “Big nest, maintaining numbers.” He frowned. “I hate texting. Why do you have to push the button four times for an S? S is one of the most common letters. You shouldn't have to push it more than once.”

“Or you could just ring them like a normal person.”

“It's the emergency command line. Have to send in orders by text or it doesn't work.” He read back over the message and hit send. “Anyway no one picks up when I call it.”

“Wonder what that's like,” Spike muttered. “You done?”

“Yeah.” Angel slipped his phone back into the pocket of his coat. He'd just needed to make sure a team got down to that warehouse to extract the dead modusbeast's body from the elevator before Josephine destroyed it. Maybe Fred or someone from her department could take a look at it and figure out what she'd done to it. The modusbeasts may or may not be relevant to what was happening to his hormones, but either way he felt like it was important to know what his cousin was up to. That done, he knelt at the edge of the roof and looked down toward the entrance to the nest. “Rough estimate? If you had to guess.”

“At least six,” said Spike. “Could be more.”

“We could do six.” Angel looked up at Spike speculatively. “You could probably manage six alone. Especially if they're new.”

“Could be more,” Spike repeated. “They don't all come out at once. And I don't fancy going inside and getting myself cornered by a bunch of smug fledges. You happen to bring any weapons?”

Angel casually pushed out his fangs.

“Bit old school. Was hoping for something a little more wooden.”

“Yeah, I didn't think to grab anything from my place. Too busy making a really easy escape, you know?”

“Weird way to describe fleeing my wrath.”

“Your wrath? Is that what you call sulking in the shower?” Angel smirked at him, an expression that probably took on a more sinister connotation with this face. Spike's scent was much stronger this way, not just the excitement that stemmed from being near Angel but also the underlying smells of his body, the leather and cotton of his clothes, the cigarette smoke. That clean, slightly salty smell of unmarked flesh that Angel's teeth could so easily leave marks upon. Ungelled, one piece of Spike's platinum hair stuck up out of place, waving a little in the air every time he spoke. It naturally drew the eye, like a white fly fishing lure or puff of dandelion in a field. Angel had never really liked the bleached look before, but... that was before.

Spike was looking at him, standing close to where Angel knelt at the edge of the roof. He was looking down at the prominent ridges of Angel's brow, watching him through dark eyes, his expression almost pained. Slowly, without saying anything, he reached out and touched the side of Angel's face, ran his fingertips gently from there over the surface of the demonic features. Startled, Angel just let him do it, looking back up curiously with golden irises. The feather-light caress of Spike's fingers on his brow kind of tickled, but he didn't mind. The touch was unexpected but not necessarily unwelcome. A little strange.

Well. A lot strange. But maybe not as strange as the other ways they'd been touching each other lately.

Spike suddenly dropped his hand from Angel's face and took a step away. “Fuck,” he said. “Sorry. That wasn't... I didn't mean—”

“It's okay,” said Angel, watching him.

“Feel like I'm losing my bloody mind.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. That one little piece of hair shimmying in the air.

“We'll figure it out. We'll find a way to make it stop,” Angel promised.

“Yeah,” Spike said. “Yeah, we will. We always do.” He didn't sound entirely convinced, but Angel didn't blame him. The frustration was terrible. Each time it happened to him, it felt like there would be no end to it until he got the relief he needed, but for Spike, even that relief didn't completely erase the need. Being this close to each other for this long was a kind of torment that didn't feel like it could be easily resolved. Angel wondered if it would help to send Spike away. Somewhere far enough to clear his head. Somehow keep him there until things went back to normal.

He looked down into the alley again. There were a couple of broken shipping pallets among the detritus that had accumulated near a dumpster. “Some stakes down there,” he said quietly, indicating the wood with a nod. “If we could find a way to lure them out...” At once, a plan leaped fully-formed into his head. He looked up at Spike again.

“No,” said Spike immediately.

“Come on.” Angel was already dropping off the side of the roof onto the fire escape.

“Angel!” Muttering a few colorful expletives under his breath, Spike jumped down after him, arriving in the alley just after Angel had stomped on one of the pallets, splintering off some pointy stake-sized pieces. He tossed one toward Spike and then went over to the entrance to the nest, a partially-covered cement staircase that led down into the abandoned warehouse beneath street level. The grating had been shoved aside just enough for a body to fit through.

“Wait for it...” Angel murmured, just standing there. He still couldn't smell himself at all, but this was worth a shot. He could definitely smell that a group of other vampires had been here very recently.

“Bloody stupid idea,” said Spike.

When nothing happened after a long moment, Angel said, a little disappointed, “Maybe no one's home.”

“Maybe you should dangle your willy down as bait.”

“Well I could, but we both know I'd just catch you again.”

“Come to think of it,” said Spike, testing the point of his stake with the tip of one finger, “if I dusted your arse, I wouldn't wanna shag it anymore. Solve all our problems.”

A soft noise at the end of the alley drew Angel's attention. He walked toward it a short distance and stopped. “Someone's coming,” he said. Spike walked forward as well, twirling the stake in his fingers.

Eventually, three vampires rounded the corner, a male and two females. The mixture of their scents all together hit Angel hard in an unexpected way. It was like a sandstorm in the desert, a giant cloud he could see coming from miles off, but with no way to stop it or shield himself. Their scents washed over him, and he didn't make a move to attack like he'd intended. Instead he stood there frozen, just looking at them. They smelled like way more than three.

The vampires seemed as startled as he was and also froze in the alleyway entrance. Almost simultaneously, their mouths all opened a little bit as they inhaled.

“Hi,” Angel managed awkwardly. “I'm Angel.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Spike blurted out.

“Hey there,” said the male vampire, taking a hesitant step forward. “I'm Tony.”

“No. No, you are not.” Spike put himself between Angel and the other vampires. “You're dust, mate. That's who you are.” He pointed at the two women. “And you're dust number two and dust number three, before you start getting any ideas.” He turned and glared at Angel.

“Right,” said Angel, blinking rapidly. His hand tightened around the stake he was holding. “Dust. One, two, and three.”

Just then, some more vampires turned onto the alley from the opposite direction. They also froze in surprise, unintentionally trapping Angel and Spike there. Angel swallowed. Okay, these were the other smells that had accosted him. “And four, five, and six,” he said. Then he frowned. “And... seven _._ ” He turned to narrow his eyes at Spike.

“I said there could be more, didn't I?” Still standing in front of him, Spike backed closer to Angel, turning to look from one group of vampires to the other.

A head popped up from the entrance to the nest, another vampire sniffing the air. When it saw the two of them standing there hemmed in on both sides, it climbed all the way up. Followed quickly by three more. No, four.

“Twelve?” said Angel. “Spike. Seriously? Twelve?”

“ _And_ I said this was a _stupid_ _bloody_ _idea_!”

Another vampire head popped up, nose first.

“And that's thirteen,” said Angel accusingly.

“Angel,” Spike gritted out, crowding him back against the wall, “I swear to God I hope you die at the hand of _a_ _bloody_ _fledgling named Tony_.”

“But if I did that, who would teach you how to _fucking_ _count_?” Angel put out a hand and pushed Spike to one side so they'd be facing the vampires equally. “You still want half?”

“We're _in_ my half, git. I want them all.”

“Excuse me, why do y'all smell like that?” one of the vampires asked them. A cute vampire, Angel couldn't help noticing.

Spike rolled his eyes. “First of all,” he said, “I don't. And second, why are there so sodding many of you? You're vampires, not fucking sardines. This is ridiculous. What's in that nest, a clown car?”

“It's not him,” another one said. “It's the hot one.”

“Right, you're dying first.”

“It's both of them,” the cute vampire said, and another said, “Wait, which one's the hot one?”

A different vampire came forward a little, smiling shyly at Angel, and said, “Hey, you wanna come inside? We have a Playstation 2.” And another, “Or we could just, you know, put on some music and see what happens.”

“Um,” said Angel, tilting his head. That was a bad idea. He shouldn't... he shouldn't go with the other vampires. And possibly have an orgy. A big vampire orgy would be... bad. Right? He looked at Spike.

Spike was inching in front of him again. “The answer you're looking for, Angel,” he said grimly, “is no way and also piss off. Understand?”

“Of course,” said Angel. “I was going to say that.” He shrugged apologetically at the vampires who had invited him in.

“Look,” Spike said to the group, “I know you all think he smells like a rainbow or whatever, but—”

“Like two rainbows,” someone interrupted. Another called from the back, “Two rainbows fucking!” and there was a general murmur of agreement.

“You can't keep him all to yourself,” someone said.

“Yes, I bloody well can!”

“Dibs on the blond one,” said someone else. “He's cute when he's mad. Smells like a cupcake.”

“That's enough!” Spike shouted. “I'm killing you all!” To punctuate this point, he staked the vampire who had wandered closest and was trying to signal to Angel without Spike noticing.

“What the fuck, man! He dusted Chad!” Another vampire lunged forward, intent on tackling Spike, but Angel kicked it in the chest before it got close, and its body flew across the alley, knocking over two others.

That's when the rest of the vampires decided to attack all at once.

They mostly went for Spike. Angel noticed this as they fought them off together, how these vampires didn't seem to want to hurt him but were trying to separate him from Spike, as though he were a hostage being rescued, or maybe some kind of prize they could win. It gave him the advantage of being able to stake a couple of them from behind as they aimed for the blond in the leather coat. Angel had very carefully stopped breathing as he flung opponent after opponent away from Spike and into the sides of buildings, kicking them back when he didn't have a good opening for a killing blow. It was easier to fight when he didn't have to smell how much they wanted him.

For his part, Spike fought well like he always did, that vicious resourcefulness that Angel found a joy to watch. But Angel also noticed that Spike spent way too much energy trying to keep himself between Angel and the other vampires. He even passed up opportunities to stake some of them in favor of more defensive positioning.

“Spike,” Angel grunted, trying not to breathe in more than he had to in order to talk. He threw another fledge backward down the alley. “What are you doing?”

“What?” Spike said, lunging forward to block another vampire that had reached for Angel. “I'm killing these stupid bloody—”

“You're taking risks to defend me. Stop it. I can defend myself.” God, they smelled even better when he hadn't been breathing and then accidentally caught a whiff.

“I am _not_ —” Spike abandoned a strategic position to jump in front of Angel again and tangle with a different vampire.

Angel shoved Spike away and staked the vampire. “Stop protecting me!”

“Oh my God, not Barbara!” someone cried out.

“But I'm—”

“Offense, not defense, Spike!” Angel hurled another body down the alley by the leg – a leg that had been aiming for Spike.

Spike punched another vampire, one that had tried to get between them. “You're the one protecting me, idiot!”

“Because they're attacking _you_ , moron!”

“Fine!” Spike rapidly staked two more, but the movement took him further away from Angel, and they were finally separated by their respective groups of fighting vampires.

It was probably better, strategically speaking, for them to fight separately and not try to watch each other. And Angel knew Spike could handle himself; he'd even said Spike could probably take up to six on his own. But it still made him uncomfortable not to be able to keep an eye on the other fight as he led some of the remaining vampires away. The ones he'd managed to bring with him down the alley fought in a way he found very annoying; they were too... handsy. Grabbing for him, making attempts at restraint instead of injury. One managed to wrest the stake from his hand, and in his effort to get it back, he unexpectedly tore the vampire's arm from its body at the shoulder socket. It screamed.

Oh... kay.

Without pausing to process _that_ shock, Angel flipped the arm around and staked the vampire using the wood clutched in its own fist, and the resulting disintegration of the body and the arm also took the stake with it. Shit. He had to kill the next one by twisting its head off. But it was easier to do than he'd expected.

As he watched the head in his hands crumble into dust, Angel was surprise-tackled to the ground by the last vampire on his side of the fight. The landing on his back knocked the wind out of him, and he gasped reflexively, accidentally inhaling the scent of the vampire on top of him. They looked at each other. It was Tony.

“Hey,” Tony said softly, adjusting his position on top of Angel. “You killed my friends. Not cool, man.” He seemed like he was trying to be angry, but his gaze kept falling to Angel's lips, his pupils blown wide and black in the bright amber of his demon eyes.

“It's not personal,” said Angel. God, why did this guy smell so...

Tony inhaled deeply. “Why do you smell so...”

“I don't know.” His hand, on its own, went up to Tony's cheek. “I don't mean to.”

“It's nice, though. Can I kiss you?”

“Um,” said Angel. “Better not. I have to kill you in a minute.”

“All the more reason,” said Tony.

Well. Angel could hardly argue with that logic.

They were making out passionately when a weight seemed to fall out of nowhere and land on Tony's back, driving Angel down into the pavement again. Tony jerked back and cried out in pain. They made eye contact for one second before he suddenly poofed into dust and Spike fell forward hard onto Angel's chest, his hands still making the shape of a stake that was no longer there. “You fucking slag,” he said.

Angel blinked the dust out of his eyes. “Did we get them all?”

“'Ooh Spike, stop protecting me, I want to defend myself like a big boy' and here I find you, splayed on the ground like a regular gutter harlot, sucking face with our bloody enemies! Did you give them each a turn?!”

“Spike.”

“ _This_ is why you need protecting in the first place, Angel! You're clearly incapable of—”

“Spike!”

It was pure luck that he happened to detect the quiet vibrations of running vampire footsteps under Spike's irate speech. Just as the footsteps stopped – a leap through the air – Angel yanked him down closer and rolled. But there hadn't been enough time to completely avoid the stake, and as Angel landed on top, he felt it tear into his shoulder. He grunted in pain. But it was a relieved sort of pain; better his shoulder than Spike's heart. Spike's face, barely three inches below his own, was as horrified as if he'd actually been dusted.

“Oh my God, I'm so sorry!” the other vampire exclaimed. “I swear I wasn't aiming for you!”

Then Angel was flat on the ground again, Spike having scrambled out from under him and snatched the stake from his body before he could even react further than that single grunt of pain. The other vampire screamed. Angel expected the voice to dissolve into a poof of dust, but it was still screaming when he got to his feet. He wasn't sure he wanted to see why, but he looked anyway.

Spike was sitting astride the vampire on the ground, kneeling on its hands. He was leaning down, calmly whispering something to it as it cried. The cries drowned out most of the words. As he leaned, he was very slowly pushing that same stake into its stomach, blood welling up around the wood as it inched in. There was already a wound where he'd stabbed it in the stomach much more quickly.

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry!” the vampire sobbed.

“Spike,” Angel said.

Spike held up his hand without turning around, signaling Angel to wait. He wrenched the stake out of the vampire's body but only moved it a little to one side, placing the point against its torso again. “I was just saying,” he said, a little more loudly this time so Angel could easily hear, “that our friend here is very lucky I can only kill him once.” He started leaning on the stake again, slowly plowing it in a diagonal direction under the vampire's abdominal muscles. “Then again, maybe that isn't so lucky for him. 'Cause now I have to make it last.”

“Please!” it begged. “Please stop! I'm so sorry!” It retched a little, some blood coming out of its mouth.

“Spike,” Angel said again, his voice sounding strangely quiet beside the other vampire's agonized cries. “Just kill it.”

Spike was staring intently down into the vampire's face. “I am.”

The smell of its blood made Angel a little woozy. Or maybe that was his own blood. “No,” he said. “What you're doing is wishing you'd brought some railroad spikes.”

Spike yanked the stake out of the vampire's stomach again and it howled desperately. “How fast d'you think we can get some?” he asked, not looking up.

“Spike. Kill it.”

Very slowly, Spike dragged the tip of the blood-covered stake up the vampire's body and positioned it over the heart. He finally looked up. “Angel, it almost—” His voice stopped abruptly. He looked down at the vampire again.

“Yeah. It tried.” Angel wanted to reach for him, put a hand on his shoulder maybe. Something. But he didn't, just stood there bleeding in the alley, and waited for Spike to finish this. The vampire was panting under him. “You're fine, Spike,” Angel reassured him, not moving. “It didn't even touch you.”

“No,” he said quietly. “Not me.” He suddenly snarled down into the vampire's face and stabbed it again, this time in the lung. While it was screaming hoarsely, he grabbed its head, separating it from the body with one hard twist. A second later, he was kneeling there in the alley in a scattering of dust, jaw clenched.

Angel gave him a moment, then walked over to stand beside him. “I think we got them all now,” he said.

Spike nodded stiffly. Then he asked, “You alright?”

“I'm fine. Just a scratch.”

The tension seemed to melt slowly from Spike's shoulders, and he slumped to the side, leaning his head against Angel's hip. The gesture surprised Angel, but he let his hand naturally come to rest on Spike's hair. Ruffled it a little with his fingers. “Stupidest bloody idea you've ever had,” Spike murmured.

“Oh, I don't know,” Angel said, soft. “I've had some dumb ones.”

Spike snorted. It sounded like an agreement.

*


	8. This Bottomless Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t want to be responsible for what happens to you if I get too excited.”

*

If Spike had been anyone else, maybe Angel would have taken his hand on the way home. Maybe he would have walked him back to the penthouse with their fingers threaded together, the touch a sign of quiet comfort, of companionable understanding: _I know this is hard, but we will help each other through it_. That was what he wanted to do.

And maybe anyone else would have held Angel's hand and understood it as a gesture of silent support. But he knew Spike wouldn't. He knew the look Spike would give him if he attempted to capture his fingers as they walked. He knew the derision, the sarcastic remark that would issue immediately from Spike's mouth, some crack meant to embarrass him for trying. He knew Spike would find the offer of his hand insulting, a comment on his weakness and not a symbol of solidarity.

He also suspected that Spike, on some level, would _want_ to take his hand, and the derision would be more for himself than for Angel because of his own innocent desire for the support of a friend, for the relief of sharing this burden. But even if Spike could have accepted that from someone else, he was much too proud to accept it from Angel, and Angel found this at once frustrating and sad and wholly relatable. And so he kept his hands to himself.

It didn't stop him from wanting to reach out, though.

Maybe it meant nothing. Just that dumb craving he had for touch.

Maybe he would touch Spike's hands when they got back to his apartment.

The two of them walked in silence with a mutually agreed upon distance between their hunched shoulders, hands stuffed deep in black coat pockets, each vampire looking effortlessly cool and mysterious in his own way, and Spike smoked while Angel bled a little from his stake wound and thought about the distance between them, wondering exactly when they'd agreed on the length of it. Was it some conscious decision they'd made 124 years ago? _We will never stand closer_ _together_ _than this. We will never touch each other meaningfully, except in anger._ He didn't remember a specific moment of deciding it, only that it had always been that way and he hadn't really noticed until this weekend. Spike, in the capacity of a potential lover, had simply never occurred to Angel before.

Spike was occurring to him now.

On the other hand, so was everyone else. Even random vampire fledges in alleyways during the middle of fights to the death, and wasn't _that_ an unfortunate inconvenience that led to being staked in the back. Spike was the only one sticking in his brain, though, the thought he kept coming back to like the scene of a crime. Was it because they were spending so much time together? If he'd spent the weekend with someone else in this situation, would that be the person he couldn't stop thinking about? Well, maybe if it were Josephine... Could this be a family thing?

It was all too confusing. And he was really hungry. When was the last time he was this hungry? And he could smell food walking around nearby.

Spike finished his cigarette and flicked the butt away, exhaling the last of the smoke. He nodded toward an upcoming intersection. “Take a right up here,” he said.

“It's closer if we keep going straight.”

“Fewer people if we go around.” Spike looked over at Angel. “And no offense, but I'm in no mood to rescue more humans from you at the moment.”

Personally, Angel was in no mood to be punched in the forehead again, so he turned right at the intersection without another word. The longer walk would be nice anyway. He was still feeling restless and likely wouldn't be allowed out again any time soon, so it was probably better to go ahead and expend as much energy as possible.

Spike kept glancing at him curiously. “What?” said Angel.

“Nothing.” They continued walking, not in any apparent hurry. Angel listened for screams just in case a slaying opportunity arose, but everything seemed quiet this late into the night. Eventually, Spike said, “Something wrong?”

“You mean besides the obvious?”

“Well, yeah. If it were obvious, I wouldn't ask.”

Angel shrugged. It made his wound twinge painfully.

“You know I don't mind,” Spike went on, “but there may be innocent pedestrians about.”

“And what, you're afraid I'll eat them?”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “ _They_ might be, seeing you like that.”

Huh? Oh! Shit. Angel quickly pulled his fangs inside. How long had they been out? Since before that confrontation with the nest of fledges? If he'd been walking around this whole time with his other face showing and not even realizing, it was no wonder Spike thought something was wrong. He briefly touched his forehead to make sure the ridges were gone. “It's um,” he said awkwardly. “It's not intentional. You remember when you were first turned and it was kinda hard to tell the difference?”

“I remember you and Dru nagging me about it, yeah. It was 'fangs away' every five minutes. Embarrassing, that.” He regarded Angel interestedly. “You having trouble with it?”

“Little bit, yeah.” It felt weird to admit this to Spike. It felt like exposing a vulnerability, and those were things they had a habit of using against each other. “I mean. Just tonight. A couple times.”

Spike seemed to consider this, then shrugged. “I don't mind,” he said again. “Just thought... pedestrians, you know?”

“Yeah,” said Angel. “It's better not to. When there could be humans around. So thanks.”

A nod. Then, after a long pause, “I've always liked it. Sort of.” He glanced quickly at Angel again, then away.

“Liked what? Having another face?”

Spike opened his mouth to answer, but closed it again. He suddenly seemed very focused on retrieving another cigarette and his lighter from his pocket. With the cigarette tucked safely between his lips, he mumbled around it, “Yours. I like yours,” and lit the end, inhaling. He flicked the lighter closed and returned it to his pocket, as though doing all of this while carefully not looking at Angel meant that perhaps the words would be camouflaged well enough not to be noticeable.

Angel noticed. The lit tip of the cigarette, that tiny orange glow, was how he imagined the feeling in his chest would look if he could see inside himself. This little spark of warmth put there by Spike, who had immediately answered Angel's vulnerability by exposing one of his own.

Intentional or not, it was as good as taking his hand.

Angel suppressed a smile as he reached over to pluck Spike's cigarette from his lips. He put it to his own mouth and took a long drag. When he made no move to give it back, Spike obligingly got out another for himself. As he lit it, he said, “Reckon you owe me a new pack by now.”

“If I get hooked again, I'm blaming you,” said Angel, smoking casually.

They walked on in silence. The smoke did help, he realized. It masked Spike's scent, except in the way that he associated the smell of cigarettes with Spike anyway, so in that respect it only half-worked. And he could still smell that faint new thread of something sweet and hot wrapping itself seductively about Spike's skin, but with his other face on the inside, it wasn't quite as strong as before.

“How's the shoulder?” Spike eventually asked him.

Angel rotated it slowly, considering. “I think I have a splinter.” The stake had gone in at an angle and been yanked out roughly. With a piece of wood still inside, the wound wouldn't close properly.

“I'll have a look when we get back.”

Angel nodded.

The city stretched out in front of them, endless roads and buildings and cars and streetlights and alleyways, smells and sounds and stillness and movement. Music and motors. He breathed it all in with the smoke. That run with Josephine had taken him further than he usually went on foot, and the walk back felt long. He didn't mind walking it with Spike, though, not nearly as much as he would have last week. There was a low brick border along the sidewalk here, a barrier between the walkway and the road, less than three feet high. Spike hopped lightly up onto it and continued walking beside Angel as they smoked, taking the rare opportunity to tower over the older vampire, his booted feet balancing easily on the narrow wall, nimble as a tomcat. It was the kind of thing he'd always done, even a century ago, and a pang of nostalgia crept through Angel's thoughts. He wondered if Spike had missed him at all, those hundred years. If he'd ever thought about him. It didn't feel like a thing he could ask.

When they finally got back to Wolfram and Hart, Spike made for the parking garage where Angel's private elevator could take them up to the penthouse. But Angel stopped, just stood there looking up at the building in the dark, and so Spike stopped to wait for him. There should have been stars above the building, but the combination of smog and light pollution made them so faint they were practically invisible. Just a big dark sky. Sunrise was still a few hours off. “You're not going to let me back out,” Angel said.

After a moment, Spike answered him, “You'd do the same. If it were me.”

“What if I don't want to go inside just yet?” He looked over at Spike standing there. “You gonna make me, Spike?”

Spike looked back at him coolly. “Rather not have to.”

With perfect clarity, Angel knew that Spike would not be able to force him to go inside. They'd been more or less evenly matched before (Angel having a bit of a physical edge because he was older and larger, but damn if Spike didn't put up one hell of a fight when motivated), but right now Angel was faster and stronger than he'd ever been. It would be no contest, and as far as he knew, Spike didn't even realize that. But knowing how hard he would try made Angel glad, grateful even. He acknowledged the implied threat with a nod and followed Spike around the building and into the private garage.

The smell of Spike in the elevator with him was intoxicating. Angel leaned against the back wall and closed his eyes, breathing slowly. He was feeling twitchy again, and what if this lasted forever? What if Spike always smelled this way to him, for the rest of their eternities, until the world ended? What then?

If nothing else, he'd never get any work done.

He'd assumed that Spike would lock them in again, but when the elevator arrived at Angel's penthouse, Spike made no move to press the lockdown combination. He just stepped out into the apartment, and Angel followed. “Got a first aid kit around here?”

“Yeah, I'll get it.” Angel shrugged out of his long black coat and started to go hang it up but stopped. He put his fingers through the big rip in the back where he'd been stabbed with the stake. This had been one of his favorite coats. With a sigh, he emptied the pockets and then wadded it up in his hands and went to the kitchen. His shoes crunched over a layer of broken glass and ceramic on the floor as he made his way over to the trash and stuffed the ruined coat in. Then he crunched back over the sharp mess, pausing thoughtfully to look inside some of the empty cabinets where his dishes had been, and finally exited the kitchen.

Spike was standing in the den, laying his duster over the back of the sofa. Angel came in and crossed his arms. “All of my dishes,” he said.

The blond shrugged, unrepentant. “It's not as though you use dishes anyway.”

“All of them,” said Angel.

“Not the pots and pans.”

“The coffee pot.”

“Well, that one was glass, wasn't it? Doesn't really count.”

Angel glared at him. But what he was seeing was that vampire in the alley whose arm he'd very easily torn off. Spike also had arms. There was an extremely satisfying idea trying to form in Angel's head about this, but he forced it down and said instead, “Real mature, Spike.”

“Says the man who locked me in and ran away. Are you shocked I was a bit bloody miffed?”

“You're a hundred and twenty-four years old, not some abandoned puppy pissing in my shoe!” Angel suddenly thought of his shoes lined up neatly in a row in his closet. “You didn't— Is there anything else I'm going to want to hurt you for?”

“Reckon there's a lot. But not tonight, no.” He hesitated. “Maybe don't check the linen closet just yet.”

“Spike. Those are $800 sheets.”

“You know, I thought they might be expensive. Cheap ones don't rip up nearly so neat.”

Angel closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Dishes and bedding. These were things that could be replaced fairly easily. He was disappointed about the coffee pot, though; it was the one he'd brought over in the move from the Hyperion. The coffee maker that had come with the penthouse was too fancy and the scorch marks on the bottom of the old pot reminded him of Cordelia. But Spike couldn't have known this. Spike barely knew him at all, at least not lately. Despite deliberately destroying Angel's things, he'd probably thought he wasn't messing with anything very personal, just some generic expensive corporate perks that would be annoying to have to replace. And the luxury sheets and dishes didn't actually mean much to Angel anyway, just that they were _his_ things and it was nice to have things. He'd never had so many nice things that were his before.

On the other hand, just because it could have been worse didn't mean it was okay. He wouldn't have done this at Spike's place. Assuming Spike had a place. And dishes.

“You're sweeping up the mess in the kitchen before Rosa comes over,” he said, turning away.

“Rosa? Who the bloody hell's Rosa?”

“She's the maid,” Angel said, and walked out.

The door to the linen closet at the end of the hallway was standing open, bits and strips of torn silk and Egyptian cotton piled on the floor in front of it, a snow of white down from a destroyed duvet topping the mess like cake icing. Angel ignored this and went into his bedroom, then into the dressing area attached to his bathroom to retrieve the first aid kit.

One entire wall above the sink in the dressing area was a mirror. Angel unbuttoned his shirt in front of this mirror, watching his lack of reflection. The material peeled slowly away from the bleeding wound beneath his right shoulder, and when he laid the ruined shirt across the counter beside the sink, it appeared in the mirror. He didn't know why they'd left the mirror here when the penthouse had been given to him, but he often watched his clothes disappearing in it as he dressed and reappearing as he undressed. When Spike walked in behind him, the reflection in the mirror remained undisturbed.

“Doesn't look too bad,” Spike said quietly. His fingertips grazed over Angel's back. “Not very deep. Looks like it didn't go in straight.” He pressed a little, feeling for splinters.

Angel grimaced. “Yeah, the stake glanced off my shoulder blade. I can tell there's a piece still in there.”

Spike took a folded flannel from the side of the sink – it disappeared from the mirror when he picked it up – and wet it to clean the blood from Angel's wound. The cold water felt soothing against the injury. Angel consciously relaxed his shoulders, untensing the muscles in his back, the flesh going smooth and soft under Spike's hand. The cloth appeared in the mirror when Spike put it back on the counter, smeared with red. He pressed his fingertips firmly to Angel's back again, not directly on the entry wound but a bit to one side. It hurt, but Angel didn't react. “Yeah, I can feel it,” Spike told him. “Want to sit while I get it out?”

Angel silently went to sit on his bed, turned to the side so Spike could easily reach the wound. Spike carried the kit over and set it next to Angel's hip. He stood behind and slightly to the side of Angel, held the tweezers from the kit in one hand, and pressed on Angel's bare back again, feeling for the piece of wood buried under the surface. “It's long,” he said.

“There's a blade in there,” said Angel, indicating the first aid kit. “If that'll make it easier.”

Fingertips running soft over his skin. “Nah, don't want to cut you here.”

It seemed like an odd thing to say – no matter where Angel was cut, the skin would heal within hours – but he didn't mention it, just let Spike decide the best way to do this on his own. He didn't flinch when the tweezers pushed into the hole in his shoulder, but when they grasped the end of the large splinter and began to shift it, his muscles tightened involuntarily, and Spike paused, letting his fingertips stroke softly over the smooth skin of Angel's back again while he waited for him to relax. After a moment, Angel exhaled slowly and forced himself to go loose and pliable. But as soon as Spike tugged the splinter, Angel's muscles tensed again, making it difficult to pull the wood from where it was stuck. “I really don't mind if you cut it out,” he said.

“I can get it like this,” Spike replied quietly. “Just relax.”

It wasn't that this type of extraction was too painful, but the pauses made it much more tedious than simply making a quick cut along the length of the splinter and popping it out sideways. Angel focused on breathing in and out evenly, letting the tension lessen with each breath. Eventually Spike tugged at the end of the splinter again, wiggling it a little to try to get it loose, and Angel concentrated on not moving.

“Almost,” Spike murmured.

Angel could feel it coming out. It did seem longer than he'd thought at first, and while it was technically a thin shard, it was thicker than he'd originally thought as well. When it had come about halfway free, the other half slid out much more easily, followed by a small welling of blood from the wound. Angel rotated his shoulder and sighed. Much better.

"All done," said Spike quietly. "And this still looks like you got it yesterday."

Angel felt him tracing the outline of the A in his tattoo. So that was why he didn't want to cut the splinter out. The cut would have healed, but the lines of ink might not have matched up perfectly afterward. Funny that Spike would care about that. "That tattoo is older than you," Angel said. "It's kind of a miracle it hasn't been messed up yet. The number of times I've been stabbed, whipped, set on fire..."

"How'd you get it to stick in the first place? I got one once, was all healed away in a month."

"I got it when I was human."

The fingertips had trailed upward to trace the griffin but paused at this. "Not really," said Spike.

"Really. A few weeks before I was turned."

"So the A doesn't stand for Angelus then? Or Aurelius?"

"No."

Spike waited, but when Angel didn't say anything else, he said, "Well? What's it for? You can't just say 'this thing you believed all your life is wrong' and then not bloody elaborate. That's just impolite."

"Maybe talk to me about manners on a day you haven't vandalized my kitchen, Spike."

Following this comment, there was a long silence behind him. When Angel looked back over his shoulder, Spike was staring at his tattoo, face contrite. It was an expression he didn't often use.

"Sorry," he said softly. Then, "Not about the dishes. I don't care about your posh dishes." He took his hand off Angel's back. "This was my fault." In his other hand, he still held the tweezers clasped around the end of a thin shard of wood about four inches long. Like a large toothpick, stained red. "If I'd been paying attention..."

"Neither of us was at our best tonight," said Angel.

"Well, _you_ definitely weren't," Spike agreed immediately. "Calling time-out to roll around in the dirt snogging a bloody fledge—"

"Hey, that was an accident. He was very persuasive.”

“Bit too easy to persuade you lately. First a human woman, then that Josephine bint, and now it's any random bloke named Tony?”

“And you,” Angel pointed out.

“And me, right.” Spike huffed. "Christ, when I saw you kissing him, I—" He looked away suddenly, then shook his head like he was disappointed in himself. “I don't know. Wasn't thinking.” When he glanced back toward Angel's face, he frowned and shoved him half-heartedly. “Shut up.”

Smiling a little, Angel said, “I didn't say anything. About you being jealous.”

“Shut _up_.”

“Of a six-month-old.”

“You're the absolute bleeding worst, you know that?” Spike stomped back into the dressing area to throw the tweezers in the sink. He hadn't bandaged Angel's wound, but it wasn't really necessary.

“Sorry, what was that?” Angel called after him. “I can't hear you over all my stuff you ruined.”

Without looking over, Spike raised two fingers at Angel as he passed back through the bedroom and went to the kitchen. Angel could hear his boots crunching across the glass as he opened the fridge and took out some blood. That reminded him of how hungry he was, so he gathered up the first aid kit and put it away before joining Spike in the kitchen, still shirtless. Spike's fangs were out, buried in a plastic blood bag.

Angel took another of the bags from his refrigerator and opened a cabinet out of habit, but found it empty. Right. “I don't suppose any of my mugs survived your tantrum?” The only reply was an unashamed grunt into the plastic, so Angel heated his blood bag in the microwave and then pushed his fangs forward and bit into it in the same manner as Spike. He wouldn't have done this in front of a human, but right now it didn't seem like some disgusting, animalistic thing. They were just eating.

He emptied the first bag very fast and got another to do it again, not bothering to heat this one. God, he was hungry. Spike watched him, drinking more slowly from his own bag, golden eyes trained on Angel's golden eyes, then dropping to his mouth, taking in the sight of Angel's lips resting softly against the clear plastic. The blood draining straight in, throat working over and over.

Angel watched Spike as well, imagined that the bag he held was a see-through human and Spike was drinking it down while it lay back against him, not struggling. How many times had they eaten like this together, but from flesh instead of plastic? Had it always made Angel hard to watch Spike sucking and swallowing this way?

No, it was everything together, that damn twitchiness, the way Spike smelled, the lingering sensation of fingers stroking his back, the fresh blood filling in the hungry spaces of his body while he watched Spike's mouth. Angel finished his second bag and disengaged his fangs from the holes he'd pierced into it, dropped it to the messy floor. Looking into Spike's eyes, he ran his tongue across the sharp tip of one fang and then the other, licking off the blood.

Spike swallowed the last of his blood and dropped the plastic as well, let it flutter down. “You're still bleeding,” he said, pupils dilated. “D'you know how fucking distracting that is?”

“Yes,” said Angel. He took a step closer to Spike, looking at his face. The one that was normally hidden. He’d seen Spike’s other face a million times, but he’d never touched it except to punch him.

Slowly, he reached forward and put his fingertips to the side of Spike’s brow, then traced them across the demonic ridges, touch as light as breath, the same way Spike had touched him earlier. Spike allowed it now, letting his yellow eyes fall closed, head bowing toward Angel’s hand. Angel took another small step closer to him, leaned in and put his lips on the prominent scar marking Spike's left eyebrow ridge. Not a kiss exactly, at least not at first. He just wanted to feel it that way, the graze of it against more sensitive skin as he turned his head slightly one way and then the other, brushing his lips softly past it.

Then he trailed his lips over to the thick folds at the top of Spike's nose. There he put a kiss. Touched Spike beneath the chin, tilted his head up. Another kiss, this time on his mouth. Still very soft, lips to lips, the jagged points of their fangs entirely hidden underneath the tenderness. And that recognizable haze that was beginning to seep into Angel's thoughts.

Spike pulled back from the kiss first. “Turn around,” he said, voice low.

Crunch of broken glass underfoot as Angel turned his back to Spike. Spike's hand was on his arm right away, holding him there as he dragged the fingertips of his other hand down Angel's skin beside the thin red trail that had rolled out of the wound. Angel pictured Spike marking him that way, slicing him open with sharp fingernails to reveal the red, then licking it off. Small exchanges of blood like that, one tiny sip at a time, weren't uncommon between a vampire and his sire, but it was an intimate thing. Not as personal as biting, but still a more familiar activity than anything he and Spike had done together.

Spike wouldn't have presumed to ask for this. But the blood was already there.

Angel could hear him breathe in deeply near the wound, could feel him exhale past the little drip. He knew what Spike wanted, knew he was thinking about it, wrestling with the idea. Surely this was why he'd asked him to turn around, but now he seemed stuck, just looking and breathing. “Go ahead,” Angel said quietly. “I don't mind.”

Tongue, immediately. Soft flick against his skin. Then another. A slow, careful clearing away of the red trail, thin sheen of saliva left in its place. Spike's tongue followed the path of blood up to the source and passed over that too, gentle little licks that stung Angel's wound in a way that didn't hurt at all but was actually pleasant, arousing. His cock, already plump with the beginnings of desire, thickened further at the sensation.

“You could've been killed,” Spike murmured against his skin between licks.

“Yeah,” said Angel. “You too.”

Spike's face nuzzled into his back. “I should've kept you safe.” His tongue went softly over the wound again, sending a tingle through Angel's whole right side. Ghost of breath over damp skin.

“Spike, it's not your f—”

Before Angel could finish, Spike had turned him around again and taken his mouth in an unexpectedly aggressive kiss. No sign of gentleness here, not anymore. He pushed Angel back against the refrigerator and kissed him hard, glass grinding against tile under their feet.

A stunned moment, and then Angel answered the kiss just as fiercely, yanking Spike's body closer. Their fangs clacked together, scraped painfully over lips and tongues. Angel could taste his own blood in Spike's mouth. Somewhere in his head he knew that he wanted Spike more softly than this, wanted something slow and tender, the versions of themselves that didn't surrender to need so desperately that affection was impossible. But right now his body accepted this, a violent solution to their immediate problem, because Spike smelled like something he could tear open and wallow around in, and it was simpler to force a kiss than request one.

Spike’s fingers dug into his neck as they kissed, a controlling grip that would have been uncomfortable to anyone else. His other hand found Angel's cock, rubbed firmly at the front of his trousers, roughly stimulating his erection to full hardness. Angel pushed into the feeling and grasped Spike’s ass, squeezed the rounded muscles through his jeans. Jesus, he could throw Spike down right here and fuck him into the goddamn glass. He imagined doing that, the way Spike’s flesh would open up in strips over the jagged shards, the floor covered in red. Oh, fuck. They needed to not be in here. _N_ _ow_. Before his mind became too fogged over to resist.

Angel shoved Spike forcefully toward the doorway. Their bodies came apart as Spike stumbled backward, crushing more sharp pieces under his heels. He seemed startled for a moment, amber eyes confused, until Angel advanced on him and pushed him back again, out of the kitchen. Once in the hallway, Angel thrust Spike against the wall and kissed him savagely, and that hand was pawing at his cock again, rubbing through the black pants fast and hard, the pressure almost painful, the near-pain almost perfect.

Spike’s fangs raked across Angel’s bottom lip. Blood was so close to the surface here on both of them, lips kissed-dark and plump, ideal for biting into. It had been a mistake to feed together, Angel reflected dimly, an even bigger mistake to let Spike taste him. Angel sucked Spike’s lip into his mouth. Now all he could smell, all he could feel, was this hunger between them. It felt like a total loss of control, and Spike’s ripe flesh was in his mouth and his fangs were down and suddenly there was nothing to stop him from sinking them in. Even Spike wouldn’t stop him. He couldn't.

It took a monumental effort not to go too far. As hard as he'd shoved Spike against the wall to ravage his mouth, Angel now tore himself away from that mouth and staggered back, bumping into the opposite wall. Fuck, why did Spike smell _so good_? He pulled his other face inside, trying to retreat from the scent. It barely made a difference. His hand came up to touch his forehead and make sure his human face was there.

“Angel,” Spike said. He took a step forward, but Angel put up his hand as though physically holding Spike back, so he stopped. But he said, “You need this. We both do.” He meant sex. The strong scent of arousal curled off him like smoke, filling the air. He couldn't know what Angel was thinking about doing.

“Yeah,” Angel managed. “Just... just give me a second.” He was still working hard to push away the idea of biting Spike. He wanted it so badly that he could barely stand the thought of kissing him again, because if he did, he might lose himself in the moment and actually do it. But it was so hard to think right now, to keep hold of his control. That fog in his head, thick as dough. It would only dissolve once he... “Alright,” Angel said quietly. “Alright, come here.”

Immediately, Spike was on him again. Pushing him roughly into the wall, his injured shoulder making painful contact with the plaster. Diving into Angel's human mouth fangs-first, a bruising kiss. Angel started to kiss him back the same way, urgent, demanding, but then his fangs descended on their own and he suddenly pushed Spike away again, held him at arm’s length and drew in a ragged breath, trying to calm down. “Wait, wait,” he said, forcing his other face back inside. Fuck, this was hard. He couldn’t even tell what color his own eyes were.

“Angel, what is it?” Spike asked him, frustrated. “We can… we can push each other around a little, it’s fine. It’s just a bit of foreplay. You know that.”

Yes, he knew that. What he didn’t know was how to explain that it was too much for him right now, too reckless. “I know,” he said. “But for now, can we just…” He swallowed. “Not so rough, okay?”

Very carefully, to demonstrate, he guided Spike forward again, slowly put his lips to Spike’s lips, kissed him softly. His hand swept up Spike’s neck, thumb stroking along his jaw as he licked into the pink mouth. After a brief hesitation, Spike kissed him back. A softer, more tentative kiss than Angel had experienced in ages. “Yeah,” he sighed. “Just like that.” They kissed again, so soft, slow. Angel could feel Spike’s elongated teeth just behind his lips. His thumb traced Spike’s jaw once more. “Fangs away now,” he coaxed.

Spike did as asked, his demon face smoothing into handsome human features. But he gave Angel a perplexed look. “Why? It’s just us.”

Angel tilted his head to inhale deeply near Spike’s neck. God, that scent. If this went on forever, he would die from it, maybe. “Because,” he said quietly, “I don’t want to be responsible for what happens to you if I get too excited.” He put his lips gently to the pale throat, a tiny kiss over the jugular. “Just be sweet for me, Spike. I know you know how.” He trailed his lips up to Spike's ear and murmured, “If you want, I’ll push you around later.”

He felt Spike's acquiescence in the unbearably tender kiss that followed.

They made out like this for a long while in the darkened hallway of Angel's penthouse, kissing each other softly with closed eyes, like they were teenagers and it was the first time and there was something more between them than this bottomless hunger. It felt at once strange and devastating and hopelessly good, and Angel slipped his hands under Spike's t-shirt, and Spike skimmed his palms down Angel's bare chest, and that thick fog clouding Angel's mind allowed in one or two thoughts, like _maybe this is all I need_ and _this could never be enough_ _._

What they were feeling couldn't be real. There was no way the status quo of 124 years could flip so entirely in the span of one weekend. It _must_ not be real, and Angel knew it wasn't real, knew it was just these stupid hormones and their weirdly alluring scents and all this goddamn _proximity_ , and he was halfway to convincing himself that he didn't even care anymore when Spike pulled back, took a deep breath, and whispered shakily, “Angel, let me fuck you.”

Instead of answering, he put a hand up to Spike's neck and pulled him close again, recapturing his lips. His other hand slid down from where he'd been resting it on the small of Spike's back, gave his ass a gentle squeeze, and then moved around to the front of his jeans to fondle the steel-hard erection tenting the denim. Spike's breathing hitched when Angel's fingers tweaked the head of his dick through the material. “Please,” he breathed into Angel's mouth. His hips shifted forward. “I need to.”

He could feel Spike trembling against him. Inhaling over and over, taking in the smell he was unintentionally radiating like some kind of demonic Viagra. Angel couldn't stop himself rubbing the stiff dick under his hand. He kept kissing Spike, stroking his palm along the trapped length of it, squeezing the tip. Spike swore and quickly reached down to unfasten his jeans, thrust his bare cock into Angel's fingers. “Angel,” he whispered desperately.

 _This isn't real_ , is what Angel almost said. But he didn't know how to make Spike understand. If you think you want something, doesn't that mean you want it? He'd already tried to explain why not, but now here they were again, and the only difference was the pile of glass on the kitchen floor. And the fact that he was a lot closer to giving in now than he had been earlier that day.

Somehow, what he said out loud was, “No.”

A quiet whine in the back of Spike's throat nearly broke his resolve. His hand squeezing around Spike's cock, lips still dropping soft kisses on his face, he began to back slowly toward the den, and Spike shuffled along with him helplessly. Then Angel let go to give him a gentle push to sit down on the suede sofa, and he knelt and tucked his fingers into the waistband of Spike's unfastened jeans, pulled them down as Spike's hips came up off the cushion to help. He pressed a kiss to one pale thigh.

The length of Spike's hard penis stood out from his body eagerly, the pink tip peeking out of his foreskin. Angel took it in his hand again, slid the skin down to watch the defined head fully emerge. In his other hand, he held Spike's bare hip as he knelt between the spread knees and slowly put his lips to shiny flesh, another soft kiss. Then another one, just beside. He painted the whole sensitive knob with slow, tender kisses, feeling the tension vibrating in the younger vampire through both his palms. Then he flicked his tongue lightly along the delicate split of Spike's cockhead and looked up at his face.

Dark eyebrows drawn together, a tortured expression, longing. Spike's hand slid into Angel's hair. “Stop teasing me, Angel. I can't stand it,” he said. Then a quiet gasp as Angel finally sucked the whole plump head into his wet mouth.

The taste of him here, this dusky pink part of him that was always hidden away beneath clothes and further concealed under skin like the most secret secret, rolled across Angel's tongue. Such an abrupt change, from the coppery aftertaste of blood in Spike's mouth to the tang of this intimate flesh, the faint natural salt of it. In the alley, Spike had come so immediately into Angel's mouth that he'd barely had time to explore the taste of this private skin, but he did so now, curling his soft tongue gently around the pleasantly rounded shape, using the very tip of his tongue to lick up through the slit.

Spike's shuddery breaths and the quiet wet sucks of Angel's mouth were the only sounds in the room. Angel's fingers circling Spike's cock slid up to meet his lips and down again in firm strokes around the thick shaft, and Spike's fingers curled tightly in his hair as a little sip of precum slipped from the tip and slid down his throat. Angel swallowed and looked up again. Spike's eyes were closed, his bottom lip bitten. Like he was concentrating on trying to hold back. God, that was sexy.

That thing was starting to happen again and Angel let it, the thing where he felt like he was floating down some predetermined route and wasn't actually making any conscious decisions, just riding along and experiencing whatever his body happened to do. He was sucking Spike's cock without actually doing the motions of it, just tasting the taste in his mouth and feeling the feel in his hand, like it was someone else's mouth and hand working it over and he had just borrowed their senses for a while. But it was good. He paid attention to what was happening, enjoyed it, wanted it to go on and on. His own cock was hard too, and he was aware of it in some distant part of his mind, the dull ache of full balls wanting to come, but right now the orgasm he wanted more was Spike's.

His hand began to stroke faster. He let the head slip wetly from his lips and then push back in further over his tongue. Squeezed Spike's hip, the bottom edge of Spike's t-shirt brushing loose over his knuckles as he sucked more firmly against the swollen flesh, the throb of it in his mouth. “Uhnn,” Spike gasped, hunching forward. “ _Fuck_.” His whole body strung tight under Angel's hands, every muscle tensed. Jaw clenched. Another tiny gush slipped out.

Angel pulled back and held the fierce erection upright, lapped at the leaking slit. Slick lips moving against it, he whispered, “I like the way you taste.”

“Christ,” Spike said, voice tight. His expression, somehow intense and vulnerable at the same time, almost pained, watching Angel's mouth with those desperate blue eyes.

“I want you to come for me.” Angel's hand was jacking him again, rapid jerks near the head, his thumb just touching the sensitive ridge of it on every upstroke. He licked over the slit again.

Spike shivered. His hands were still in Angel's hair and he urged his head forward, thrust his cock up between the soft lips again. He cursed quietly as Angel sucked, then cursed more loudly as Angel sucked harder. “Fuck, yeah, that's it– that's–”

He spilled suddenly into Angel's mouth with a groan, his entire self shuddering with the pleasure of it. His knees trembled on either side of Angel's body. Angel swallowed the release as it pumped against his throat, his eyes closed to focus on the taste, more bitter than the precum but... God, something about it was almost that same sweet burn that reminded him of whiskey and an evening spent sketching near a fireplace. He leaned into it, took more of Spike's flesh into his mouth, continued sucking softly. The spurting subsided, but he didn't let go.

Harsh breath eventually slowed into something more steady, calm. A satisfied sigh, Spike's thumb running gently along his cheek. He glanced up, mouth still full, and met an expression suddenly so relaxed and content that it sent an unexpected warmth tingling through all the parts of his body, down to his toes. Spike's pupils were still enlarged, but his lazy smile was nothing but pleased. Stroking his thumb along Angel's cheek again, he said quietly, “You look so fucking hot with my cock in your mouth, you know that?”

Angel pulled back slowly, let Spike's still-stiff erection slip from his lips. He felt lightheaded, a little dizzy as he sat back on his heels in front of the sofa. His hand was on his own need now, squeezing it through his pants. “Spike,” he murmured. “Could you... um.” He closed his eyes, swallowed.

“Yeah. Come here.” Spike was pulling his jeans back up, but he didn't fasten them.

Angel got to his feet on autopilot. He felt so... he was very hard, and his skin felt full and tight around his erection, but somehow the whole rest of his body felt that way, too. Like there was too much of him on the inside, like he was really a larger vampire than this, stuffed inside a smaller body. And when Spike leaned forward and got his cock out, wrapped his fingers securely around it, Angel felt the touch in a bigger place than just his cock. He could feel himself being stroked here and on some other level where his body wasn't. And inside Spike's mouth he could feel himself being sucked there, too.

He moaned softly, and at the same time his other face came forward, but he didn't bother trying to pull it back inside. There was too much inside already, and as long as Spike's mouth was around his dick then his neck was too far away to be in danger of a bite. Angel slid his fingers into Spike's hair and let himself float away on his two separate pleasures: this one where his entire body was very present and sensitive and feeling everything down to the way the little hairs descending beneath his belly button moved slightly with Spike's breath, but also the one where some hidden part of him that wasn't this body at all was enjoying it just as much as he was, in some place he couldn't see. It was like getting two blowjobs at the same time.

He could hardly be blamed that it didn't last very long.

Angel was fully buried in that perfect wet mouth when he came, Spike's nose pressed into his pubic hair. He wasn't exactly sure when Spike had managed this since he somehow didn't notice it happening, but he noticed in a big way as he orgasmed directly down Spike's throat and felt the insistent massage of muscles swallowing around him. He cried out, quivering, holding Spike's head firmly against his body while he unloaded the most powerful orgasm he'd ever had. It seemed to go on for much longer than it should, or maybe time had slowed down, and when it finally ended he felt practically turned inside out, emptied and loose, light as a wrung-out cloth.

He was still panting softly as the fog began to clear from his head. The air in the room felt cleaner now, less filled with distracting scents. He relaxed his hold on Spike's head and ran his fingers slowly through the soft blond hair. Spike made no move to pull away, lips still stretched around the base of Angel's penis, his hands resting on Angel's hips, eyes closed. He made an mmm sound that vibrated pleasantly against Angel's overstimulated cockhead.

“How are you doing that?” Angel asked languidly. He gave Spike's hair an affectionate tug but didn't try to escape his throat. The last person to take him this deeply had been Darla three years ago, and he'd missed the feeling.

After a few moments, Spike slowly began to back off, Angel's cock slipping wetly out of the snug space. He licked the head a couple of times and then said, a little hoarsely, “Not so difficult if you don't breathe.”

Angel drew his fingers up through Spike's hair, ruffling it. “Maybe I'll try it later.”

“You could try it now.” Spike was still hard, his penis pointing stiff and lonely out of the unfastened black jeans, a reminder that while Angel's own orgasms brought a much-needed relief from the intensity of his hormones, Spike's only took the immediate edge off. His general arousal persisted even after he came because of his closeness to Angel's scent.

But seeing Spike in such a state also turned Angel on despite his post-orgasmic clearheadedness, and he knew he could easily go again – more safely now, he'd guess, because the urge to bite was lessened. It occurred to him that they could probably keep making each other come over and over for a long while without losing much momentum, and the thought of doing that made his dick move. Spike put his hand around it and stroked upward slowly, squeezing out one last liquid drop, then licked it away. Angel shivered.

"Do you think it would help you if I took a shower?" Angel asked him. "I don't know if I can wash off the way I smell, but I could try."

"No," murmured Spike. He rubbed Angel's cock back and forth slickly against his soft lips. "Whole bloody place smells of you. Makes the air thick. Your scent's soaked into the furniture. 'S good, though." Lightly, he sucked again at the swollen pink plum, and Angel exhaled a sharp breath at the ticklish sensation so soon after coming. But he didn't hate it. He imagined taking Spike here on the couch, just turning him around on his knees and pushing right into his ass while he buried his face in the back cushion, moaning. They could make the furniture smell like him, too.

The tongue swishing underneath his cockhead was doing nothing to discourage this fantasy.

Before he could mess up and accidentally fuck the everloving hellfire out of Spike's ass, Angel took a hasty step back from the sofa, his penis leaving Spike's mouth with a soft pop. "I think I'll shower anyway," he said, and quickly walked out of the room without waiting for a response.

He made the water really, really cold and stood under it, completely still, just breathing. The temperature didn't affect how much he wanted to fuck Spike, but it at least threw his thoughts into a more alert clarity, so he could efficiently brood and suffer at the same time. That made him feel more like himself.

God, he wished he could silence the argument in his head. It's not as though he had some hang-up about having sex. There was definitely no danger of perfect happiness up Spike's ass, particularly considering the toddler tantrum that had happened in the kitchen. And he didn't hate it the other way either, the stretch of it, the intensity; it had been many years since he'd felt that but it wasn't the kind of thing you forget enjoying. And these were just bodies, right? How much did it even matter if they used their bodies this way? It didn't have to mean anything.

Except it did mean something. Because this was Spike, not some random stranger. Not someone he could use and discard without guilt, or allow inside and not believe things between them had fundamentally changed. He couldn't have sex with Spike and then pretend it never happened. Or, well, he probably _could_ – considering the number of things he'd done that he lived with every day and didn't let himself think about – but Angel suspected it would be more difficult for Spike, who was still new to compartmentalizing decades of regret. Angel couldn't just let this be one more thing for Spike to hate himself for.

And Spike's pride could be so fragile, even though he pretended otherwise so convincingly that it sometimes made you forget. He was much easier to hurt than he let on, and while this was something his body might want from Angel right now, if Angel fucked him he knew Spike would be humiliated later. When things went back to normal.

If things ever went back to normal.

He knew, logically, that they would fix this. They always fixed things. It was what they did. Everything would be normal eventually, and that meant he had to plan for the normal. But in this moment it felt like these were their lives now, that this hunger was forever, and to keep denying their overwhelming desire didn't feel like a sustainable option for eternity.

If they did it the other way, if he let Spike fuck him, maybe Spike would find that easier to deal with afterward. But Angel wouldn't. The anger, the bitterness that was so familiar between them... Angel didn't feel that toward him so much right now – well, maybe over the dishes, and goddamn it those were nice sheets – but if those hateful feelings came back after he'd let Spike put him in such a vulnerable position, knowing how often and how easily they used vulnerabilities against each other...

Well, he wouldn't be able to let Spike stay, and that was that.

So. He was back where he'd been all day, brooding about how much sex to have with Spike, and deciding the answer was none. Just mouth stuff. But no biting, even though that would (maybe?) solve the sex issue. Because that would just invite a whole host of new problems.

Jesus, this water was freezing. Angel turned it the opposite way and washed himself under an intense heat, the stake wound on his shoulder stinging with the spray. It was already shrinking, should heal soon. He didn't do anything special to try to cover the scent that affected Spike so entirely since the whole penthouse apparently smelled that way already. Just did his normal routine with normal shampoo and normal soap, pulling his fangs in when he noticed them as he washed his face. And when he stepped out, the warm steam that escaped the bathroom fogged up the mirror so he didn't see his pajama pants disappear as he picked them up, then reappear as he dropped them again, figuring there was no point. He was going to need Spike again in a few hours anyway.

He dried himself, toweled his hair as dry as he could and ran his fingers through it, fluffing it up, before climbing into bed. He lay with the sheet pulled up to his chest to trap the residual shower warmth, glad that Spike hadn't destroyed the bedding on his actual bed. As alert as his mind was, his body was starting to get tired. It had been a long and particularly active evening, and if he could get his thoughts under control, he would probably sleep very soundly. But.

“Spike,” he said.

Immediately, the blond head peeked around the bedroom doorway, as if he'd just been standing there. “Yeah?”

Angel flicked down the sheet on the other side of the bed. He nodded toward it.

Spike seemed pleased as he came forward, shedding his t-shirt. His boots were already off. “Thought you were banishing me to the bloody sofa again.”

“There's no point. I'd just wake up with you in here anyway.” Then, “Those jeans are not getting into this bed.” He watched Spike obligingly remove the offending black garment and leave it piled on the floor before sliding naked under the sheet with Angel. “If I bought you some real clothes, would you wear them?”

“Not fucking likely,” said Spike, nestling down into his pillow. “But if you wanna make a cash donation for services rendered, I might buy me own.”

“Right, like I'm going to fund your assault on fashion.” Angel waited until Spike had gotten completely comfortable and stopped fidgeting before he casually reached over and pulled Spike's body to him, skin to skin.

“Hey!”

“Shh. Go to sleep.”

“I'm not your sodding teddy bear.” Spike wriggled around as though choosing his own more acceptable sleeping position, but in the end he settled more or less the way Angel had arranged him anyway, pressed into Angel's side, head resting on his chest, one arm flung across Angel's waist.

Spike felt cool against his shower-warmed body. Angel could feel him breathing. It was habit, something they did automatically when awake, even though they didn't need to. To stop, they had to stop intentionally, and it wasn't difficult but it also wasn't often necessary, and not breathing meant not smelling anything, which for them was a disadvantage in a lot of ways. Angel wondered how long they could go without accidentally breathing if they simply tried to stop smelling each other, wondered if that would help. Beside him, Spike smelled like something that prodded at his memory, something pure and nostalgic, a clear glass of perfect amber reminiscence. He didn't really _want_ to turn off that scent. What he wanted was to pull it around himself and live inside it like a cocoon.

“Spike,” he said quietly. “What do I smell like to you?”

The unmistakably much more disagreeable than a teddy bear vampire seemed to consider for a moment, then said, "Already told you, didn't I?"

"You said a bunch of different things."

"Well, I heard from some alley dust that you can add 'two rainbows fucking' to the list."

"In context," said Angel, wrapping his arm comfortably around Spike's shoulders, "I think _you_ might be a rainbow, Spike."

"You take that back."

"I just mean you're starting to smell different. Not how you smelled before." He let his fingers trail softly up and down Spike's arm. "It's good, but I can't really think of a way to describe it. Like something I remember from a long time ago. If it's the same thing that's happening to me, you wouldn't be able to tell. I can't smell myself either."

"You saying your voodoo hormones are contagious now?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I guess we'll find out if everyone starts wanting you to fuck them."

"Reckon I'll need more proof than that. Not sure I'd notice the difference."

Angel chuckled. He could feel Spike smile against him.

"Except you," Spike said suddenly. The arm across Angel's waist moved up, hand going to his chest. Fingertip brushing gently over a nipple. "I know you don't want me to."

"It's not that," Angel replied after a moment. "I mean. I don't _not_ want you to."

Spike quickly lifted his head from Angel's chest and looked at his face, eyes wide and hopeful. “Yeah?”

Angel hesitated, then pushed Spike back down against him and left his hand resting on Spike's head. “No.”

“But you just said—”

“I know. But I don't think we can trust how we feel right now. And I don't want to make a mistake that we can't take back. You get that, right?”

Spike sighed. “So, just to be clear: I want to, and you don't _not_ want me to, but you don't want us to 'cause we don't really want to.”

“Sounds like you get it.”

“No, I really don't,” said Spike. He lifted his head again and scooted further up Angel's body, looking down at him. In the dark, Angel could see the desire on Spike's face before he leaned down and pressed his lips softly to Angel's lips. Angel kissed him back thoroughly, unhurried. Let his fingers drift down the shallow indent of Spike's spine, palm sliding warmly over one ass cheek. A little squeeze. Spike finally pulled back just enough to whisper, “How can you kiss me like that and still say no?”

Angel pressed another kiss to his lips and then nuzzled against his cheek. “I'm going to keep saying no.” A tiny kiss on the cheek, and he smiled a little. “But I want you to know... I kinda like hearing you ask.” At this, he felt the beginnings of an answering smile on Spike's face.

Spike kissed his mouth again. “Let me fuck you,” he murmured playfully. His hand cupped Angel's jaw.

After a moment, Angel breathed into his mouth, “No.”

Spike's hand swept down his neck, over his chest. He lightly pinched the stiff little bud of Angel's nipple. “Angel,” he said, voice soft as warm silk. “Let me fuck you.”

A tiny thrill tripped its way down the back of Angel's neck. He squeezed Spike's ass, ran his hands up the smooth skin of his back, and whispered, “No.”

Another kiss, deep, more passionate than the others. Spike's hand caressed Angel's side, gliding down, fingertips dragging over the top of his thigh. Then he scooped Angel's balls into his cool hand, ran his thumb slowly over them, back and forth. Angel's breath caught, his thighs falling open. “Come on,” Spike coaxed between kisses, “let me fuck you, Angel.”

He held Spike's head, fingers buried in his hair as they kissed. It took longer this time, but Angel finally managed to breathe out, “No.”

“Shall I keep asking?” Spike whispered. His hand slid upward, wrapped around Angel's cock, which had stiffened readily with interest. “Shall I tell you how much I need it, to fill you up?” He squeezed, rippling his fingers around the hardness. “Shall I beg to be inside you, Angel? Is that what you want to hear?”

“Jesus, Spike.” Spike's erection was pressed to his hip and Angel reached down to take it in his hand as well. To be inside him, to fill him up... it sounded like asking to be bitten, to have his essence swallowed into Angel's body, his scent overwhelmingly inside. Angel was almost certain now: Josephine had been right. Biting Spike _would_ satisfy this craving. That's why Spike was so desperate to fuck him. It's why he'd rubbed his cum all over Angel the first time, trying to mark him without understanding why. If Angel drank enough of his blood, Angel's natural scent would change to be more like his, and then this need wouldn't be so constantly stimulated. Somehow Spike had been asking for this without even realizing it's what he wanted.

“You shouldn't beg me,” Angel said, rolling his thumb over Spike's cockhead, listening to the hissed intake of breath. Angel took his lips in another heavy kiss, then murmured, “I don't think I could say no if you begged.”

A sly grin. “So that's it, then? I just need to say something like—”

“Spike, don't.” Angel kissed him again, this time more to shut him up than anything. Beneath the sheet, he stroked Spike's dick in the same rhythm that his was being stroked by Spike.

When Spike pulled back from the kiss, he tilted his head down and rested his forehead against Angel's, eyes closed, breathing shakily as they rubbed each other. And then very quietly, so quietly even Angel's enhanced hearing could barely make it out, Spike whispered, “What if I asked you to do it to me?”

Angel stilled his hand immediately, stopped breathing. Focused on not moving at all so he wouldn't do something bad. Like fuck Spike.

“Angel?” Spike said. He dropped a kiss on Angel's lips, brief. “Hey?” Then his hand stopped moving as well. “Angel?”

Angel swallowed. Carefully, he asked, “Is that – is that something you would want?”

The hand on his cock moved again, thoughtful, more like a caress than before. “Would you? If I wanted it?”

A deep, steadying breath. That incredible scent wafting all around them. “Spike, I would fuck you through this goddamn mattress.” He felt Spike's hips shift forward, a thrust into Angel's hand. He began stroking again, quick and firm, and took another kiss from Spike's mouth.

“And,” Spike breathed, squeezing Angel's hardness, jerking it again, the skin moving with his hand, “I'd like it, yeah? You'd make it good for me?”

“God, yes.” Angel suddenly turned them, rolled over in the bed so he was on top of Spike, his hips cradled between Spike's thighs, their hands automatically moving away so they could feel their dicks pressed together between their bodies. Angel moved against him, a slow push, grinding them together. He watched Spike's mouth fall open on a soft sound and kissed him again. He whispered, “I'd fuck you so good, Spike. You'd come so hard with my cock inside you.”

Spike put his arms around Angel and held him like this, one hand going up to hold the back of Angel's head so he could kiss him hard, the other sweeping down his back, grabbing his ass while he tilted his hips up against Angel's body, rubbing their cocks together again. He did this again and again and so did Angel, their bodies finding this natural rhythm of thrusting tightly against each other, both contributing to a wetness that smeared between their stomachs.

On top of him, holding him down like this, Angel could feel the trembling of Spike's body as the proximity to Angel's scent began to overwhelm him again. In the midst of being really fucking turned on, but still more or less feeling like himself and not just some horny automaton like before, Angel felt a heartbreaking pang of sympathy for him. Would Spike have mentioned the possibility of being fucked if he hadn't felt desperate? As much as Angel wanted to do it – and holy shit, he wanted to – he still didn't really believe Spike wanted it. And with the way things were going between them now, how well they seemed to be getting along in spite of... this... Angel felt as determined as ever not to give Spike any more reason to hate him when this was over.

Spike turned his head from their fervent kiss and panted into Angel's ear, “Do it, then. Angel, do it. Fuck me.”

Hearing the words almost made Angel come on Spike's stomach without warning. A shudder passed through him, but it didn't quite tip him over the edge, and then he was kissing Spike again, his mouth, then his neck, and his collarbone. He backed his way down Spike's body like this, and between kisses he said, “Let me do this instead. I want to taste you again.”

Spike moaned quietly as his wet cock slid into Angel's mouth, and he put his fingers through Angel's soft brown hair to keep his head there. Angel sucked and stroked with his hand at first, listening to the hitches interrupting Spike's breath, but then he stopped breathing and slowly pressed his head forward, trying to take more. He felt his gag reflex triggered once, and for one startling moment he thought his fangs might come out in defense. But he waited a few seconds and tried again, and then Spike's cock was very slowly stretching its way down his throat.

He heard Spike cry out, felt him squirm a bit, and then, just as Angel's nose pushed into dark golden hair, he could feel Spike's orgasm happening, the way it throbbed inside, the pulses of cum down his throat that he couldn't actually taste but felt in an oddly surreal way. He tried to swallow and Spike gasped again. So he did it a few times.

When he finally released Spike's erection from his mouth, the lingering stretch of his throat felt strange, but it didn't really hurt. Spike hauled him back up and kissed him thoroughly while also somehow managing a smug grin. “Told you it's not so difficult,” he murmured, wrapping his fingers around Angel's erection. A fond squeeze. The difficult part had been not biting down, but Angel didn't say this, just kissed him back, noting a little absently that the tremors had stopped. That was good. But then, “You could still fuck me,” Spike said quietly. “Now, or... or later, if you like.”

“I would,” Angel told him, his voice maybe a little hoarse. “I would do it in a second. If I really believed you wanted me to.”

A frustrated sound. “Angel, how many bloody times have I got to say—”

“I don't mean right now. I know you want it now. But if you didn't before, then now doesn't matter. Don't you see? It's just the way I smell to you that's making you think—”

“And I'm, what, s'posed to tell you everything felt just the same before? If I said that now, would you actually believe me?”

Angel sighed, felt a twinge in his throat as he swallowed, and rolled away onto his back. “I can usually tell when you're lying,” he said. “Maybe if you were... convincing enough?” He glanced over, then away again. He'd already tried asking Spike earlier exactly how he felt, and he didn't get an answer then either. If there really had been something there before, wouldn't he have said so by now? “Never mind. Just forget it, Spike. I don't want you to tell me something you don't mean.”

A long, silent moment. Then a tentative hand reached down slowly, curling around Angel's persistent erection again under the sheet. Quiet voice, low, “But you still want me to take care of this, yeah?”

Shit. Angel closed his eyes. “Yeah.”

*


End file.
